steel runs in the blood
by rurounibug
Summary: This part--> mistakes on chap5, replaced by link to rest of story. When Aya and Omi get hurt on a mission, Aya-chan takes it on herself to find out their secret. And...what's wrong with Aya anyway? (slightYxA?)
1. mission

My first fic!!! And I'm nervous about it, so I babble alot before and  
  
after.  
  
Title: Steel runs in the blood  
  
Author: Dragonflyred7  
  
Pairings: Youji/Aya later. (chapt3. Noooo, don't skip this part!!! It has action! Er…not *that* kind.)  
  
Summary: When the Abyssinian is badly injured during a mission it's up to the other Aya (Yup, Aya-chan!) to keep the team together.  
  
Rating and warnings: PG-13(Maybe?) For violence, angst, and language.  
  
Spoilers: Many, but not necessarily overly correct: Aya(kun)'s real name and very likely everyone's pasts, Botan, Aya-chan's accident. Etc etc. List goes on indefinitely, but these are the spoilers I know I'll use in this part or plan to use later.  
  
Status: In progress. But if you all hate it, I can drag it out back and shoot it in the head for you. It's a first fic. Be gentle. Also, I have a very bad track record for finishing things I start. *coughs*  
  
Archive: Why would you ever want it? But if you do, e-mail me first and tell me where it is so I can go ooh and aah at it.  
  
Thanks to: some person called Yen, who wrote the fic, `Aya's Scheme'.  
  
Something Youji says in that inspired the title of this one. It all grew from there.  
  
Disclaimer: I'm using Weiss and it's characters without permission. This story is written for fun only and I'm not making any money off of it. All characters and most of everything else belong to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss, and not, unfortunately, to me. (shed a  
  
tear, everyone!)  
  
K. I babble too much. Getting on with it.  
  
########  
  
steel runs in the blood  
  
by dragonflyred7  
  
  
  
scene 1: mission  
  
A long, darkened hallway in a large corporate complex. Normal offices to the right and left. Nighttime. You could hardly see a thing in the clinging gloom. In fact, Ken kept looking down at his bugnuks to see if they were still visible or if the darkness was growing more complete. It was always a corporate building of some kind, these days. Always a file to download. Always nighttime. Always so dark you could barely see your own feet. And Youji always seemed to have his sunglasses on. How the hell did he see where he was going? What did he have? Sonar or something? At least that would explain the humming Ken had had to put up with for the past hour or so. He wondered idly if forcing Youji to shut up would cause the blonde to start bumping into things.  
  
Considering the explosives they both carried, that might not be a good thing. Amusing, yes, definitely, but just as definitely *not* good. Almost as not good as the sudden cigarette Youji appeared to decide he couldn't live without. Ken sighed a little, under his breath. Why did they bother to sneak around in the dark when Youji insisted on igniting that telltale little flame? And why did he insist on it when both he and Ken were loaded down with what felt like the better portion of a ton of explosives.  
  
"Balinese. Put in out." He hissed, leaning forward over Youji's shoulder to make sure the blonde had heard him.  
  
"What for?" Youji raised an elegant eyebrow, a line of slightly deeper shadow in the pool of greyish gloom that was his face in this half- light. Did he actually have to point out *why*? Ken just gave him a *look*, copying Aya's tactic of getting people back in line. It didn't work very smoothly for Aya, not when dealing with Youji, anyway, and it didn't work at all for Ken. Youji just chuckled softly and took another long drag, the ember at the end of the thing glowing brightly in the darkness.  
  
"You're gonna blow us up, Balinese, that's `what for'." Ken snapped, still keeping his voice down as he pulled out and inspected the blueprints Omi had printed out and marked. Even squinting, he could barely see the neat, tidy Xs Omi had made to indicate the most  
  
effective points to blow. Support beams and such. Gas lines. The better to bring the house down with, my pretty. Ken smiled at the thought and pointed down the hall. Gas main just around the corner.  
  
Youji paused to consider his cigarette, pulling it out from between his teeth to examine it before replacing it and inhaling deeply, a sigh. "Just another chip on the table, Ken." He replied, releasing smoke with every word, "It's all a gamble anyway, right?"  
  
Ken could hear the smirk in his voice.  
  
%%%  
  
Finally they were in. Omi breathed a celebratory, "All right!!!" as the password screen disappeared to be replaced with lines and lines of filenames, racing down the screen as they were copied onto disk, the whirr and hum of the hard and disk drives filling the small, dark room.  
  
Another office. Another crooked, sinister corporation who couldn't care less who why harmed so long as profit was high and kept rising. The soft sounds of a computer at work seemed to have become the sound track of his life. The play of the screen's bluish light on Aya's patient, waiting figure on guard just beyond the door its backdrop.  
  
"C'mon, c'mon." Omi chanted, bouncing a bit restlessly in the chair when the download stopped for a second or two before resuming again. He knew they didn't have as much time on this one as they usually did. They had about twenty, thirty minutes to get it all done and get out. Ken and Youji were under orders to rig and set the explosives, then inform them. However long it took them to finish that task was exactly how long Omi had to get the files and leave. No more, no less. Probably not even a few second's leeway.  
  
The file names kept racing down the screen, catching now and then as the hard drive whirred to catch up. Omi checked his watch. A few more minutes to clear this up and they could go. Line of text kept scrolling down the screen, too fast to read, but slow enough that Omi could catch a word here and there before the line disappeared off the bottom of the screen. He checked his watch again. His mind had started measuring the time by the beat of his heart and the random words.  
  
Finance…lub-dub…lub-dub…test…lub-dub…report…lub-dub…15MB…lub-dub…. Check watch again. One minute down. Words kept scrolling. Aya shifted a little out there, tilting his head as to listen. Consumers…lub- dub…erase…lub-dub…file saved…lub-dub…. Check watch again.  
  
He could hear the occasional burst of chatter over the comm when Ken and Youji were out of earshot of each other. The occasional joke or wisecrack. Not many though. Not as much tonight as on others. Everyone seemed in a pensive mood tonight. Even Aya, who usually hung aloof from the rest of the team's moods, was more silent than usual. He hadn't said so much as a word since leaving the car, and Omi was loath to bother him, much as he'd have liked some conversation to help ease the tension.  
  
The hard drive whirred loudly and the message "30% complete" superimposed itself over the parading text. "We've got thirty, Abyssinian." Omi announced, his voice sounding louder in the velvet darkness than he'd intended it to. Even to himself it sounded like an  
  
eerie hiss. The flicker of blue light against Aya's face as he nodded, the only indication that he'd even heard.  
  
Omi left the percentage window open. Announcing the progress of those numbers gave him an excuse to fill the silence with something other than machine sounds and his own breath, way, way too loud in his ears. How could Aya be so silent? So still? A raven-black statue in his trench, the almost-delicate paleness of his skin hiddenby the bulk of leather he encased himself in on these missions.  
  
"Thirty five percent. It's going pretty quick. We should be able to get in all."  
  
Another nod.  
  
Omi shifted uncomfortably to get some feeling back into slowly numbing legs. He hoped he'd be able to be get out of here when the time came. Stupid to end up dead because your feet fell asleep. Nodding to that piece of internal logic, Omi got to his feet, pushing the chair back as he stood and shifting his weight from one foot to the other to get the circulation going. The sensation of pins and needles made him wince a little, but it faded soon enough with the constant movement. Omi sighed in relief. "Forty percent, Abyssinian."  
  
%%%  
  
Aya leaned against the doorway, eyes flickering up and down the hall, hands clenched on the hilt of his katana. He jumped a bit at the creaking sound of Omi's chair being relieved of its burden, but managed to stifle it.  
  
There was nothing but silence in the hall. It made him a bit nervous. These buildings usually had air conditioning running round the clock, for the benefit of whichever ambitious employee might be putting in extra hours, a low background hum that was so common that its absence raised Aya's hackles. Unlike the others he didn't mind the routine of the latest missions. It just meant they all knew just what they had to do *before* they went in. The less guess work they had to work on the better. It made surprises a little easier to deal with, so long as they didn't allow themselves to be lured into a sense of security, didn't allow themselves to get cocky.  
  
Omi hadn't yet started on his nervous habit of breaking into chatter, save to call out the advancement of progress bar. Aya didn't mind. For once he was actually glad for it, as impatient as the others to get done and go home. Somewhere across town, a comfortable bed and a safe home awaited them. He wanted done with this.  
  
There was a time he might not have cared if a bullet took him through the head, if he was captured and subsequently killed. Not have cared if it hadn't meant an end to his sister's care. But it was too late for that now. Too late to give himself over to the darkness  
  
beyond, to the what he imagined must be peace and cool, soothing darkness. To do so now would be to effectively admit to his dark life. If were to die, he knew the others would feel obliged to straighten Aya-chan out, to inform her as to what, exactly, her brother had become for her sake. So she could know and understand. Understand why he was not the gentle, shy boy he'd been when she went to sleep. Why she'd woken to find a cold eyed, cold- hearted young man wearing *her* name. So maybe she could forgive him for being unable to look her in the eyes anymore. So maybe she could forgive him for sullying her name.  
  
He would be unworthy of that forgiveness as he was now. He knew he could never ask it of her. Yes, he would not deserve it, but her inevitable refusal to forgive him, to absolve him, would be too harsh a blow. Maybe in death he would be…. But to do so she would  
  
have to know what he'd been doing these past years. For her to know *that*. It was a shame he thought he might not survive. He could not forgive himself *any* of the lives taken. Not even those most deserving of it. So how could she? She who had never known the pain of treading the gray area between right and wrong. Aya-chan had fallen asleep at the end of one dream, one life, and awoken at the start of another. She had not seen the blood and the pain of the transition period. She could not know, not ever, that it was blood that had paved his path and hers. Her brother's blood, and that of countless others.  
  
"Heads up, Abyssinian." Youji's voice crackled in his ear. "I think we've got trouble."  
  
It was maybe two seconds, maybe three, before Youji words were a reality instead of a mere warning. The appearance of the building's security reminded Aya of nothing so much as a pack of dogs closing in on the kill. They came dashing around the corner in a tight group, the lights flickering on ahead of them, heralding their approach. Aya scowled at that, blinking to adjust to the sudden illumination. Unless they were planning to blind him, it seemed rather a stupid move, giving prior warning of their approach. It gave him enough time to draw his katana and step away from the wall—to give himself room to move—before they got there.  
  
"Abyssinian?" Omi, hearing the guards, or maybe just noticing the lights flickering on in the hall. Maybe he'd even noticed Aya's withdrawal from the doorway.  
  
"Keep going, Bombay." His own reply was smooth and cool and even, unbroken, uncolored, by the adrenaline that rushed through his veins as soon as his katana was a rod of reflected lamp light in his hands, rather than cloaked steel. Omi's affirmative was a terse, tight nod, a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision before the  
  
blade turned back to the screen.  
  
"Fifty percent."  
  
Good. Half more and they could go.  
  
"Siberian, Balinese. Backup?" he barked, keying his comm, bringing his blade up into a defensive stance so he could remain near the door, protect Omi until the files were downloaded and they could fight their way out.  
  
%%%  
  
  
  
"Backup?!!" Youji shrieked, "What the fuck do you mean backup? Siberian, tell him just how capable we are at the moment of offering *backup*?"  
  
"Uh, we're kinda busy, Abyssinian." Ken offered, hollered, actually, over the sounds of battle. "We've got our hands full, too."  
  
"How's progress?" Youji asked, his wire whistling out to cut open a throat, another nameless, faceless adversary. Another nameless, faceless corpse, probably as much a victim as they were themselves. Youji didn't let himself think about the family this man was probably trying to support, didn't let himself wonder about whether he had any more sinister motive for defending this place. He knew that these faceless rent-a-cops were just trying to earn a penny or two, that they didn't and never would *deserve* to die. He shoved  
  
the knowledge to the back of his mind, to drink into non-existence later, and contacted Aya.  
  
"Abyssinian, we have to get out now. We need to get things moving if we still want fireworks."  
  
"Fifty-five percent." Omi's voice, a soft background call coming to him through Aya's earpiece.  
  
"Files or fireworks, Abyssinian?"  
  
A pause. Then the soft breep and static that announced Aya getting back in touch.  
  
"Fireworks. We'll need them to get out."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Youji winced as he pulled out the knelt to set the timer on the beat bundle of explosives, letting Ken cover him, cover what he was doing, as he did. The bomb was well hidden. These goons wouldn't know what hit them. Youji left the timer shoved it into the grate its wires trailed down, and bounded to his feet, to Ken's side, his wire a long strand of silver moonlight in gloved hands.  
  
"Set to go, Abyssinian. Fifteen minutes to clear the area."  
  
  
  
00:15:00  
  
The sounds of Aya fighting outside drifted in through the open door along with the overflow of fluorescent lighting from the hall. Omi bounced a little, dancing from foot to foot in impatience. The damned download paused again for what seemed like several minutes, the light that indicated the hard drive busily at work a bright green spot against what was still only a vaguely cube shaped shadow, despite the extra illumination.  
  
"Oh, come on you. Dammit." Omi swore softly at the machine, as if that would entice the thing to hurry.  
  
There was a lull in the clashing noises, in the yells and shouting. Aya was back in the doorway, orchid color eyes a deep, rich plum in this darkness. The expression in them was questioning.  
  
"Sixty percent and its stuck again, Abyssinian." Omi informed him softly, complaint evident in his young voice, he returned Aya's questioning look with one of his own, raised a brow in case Aya couldn't see him all that well, looking from light into darkness.  
  
"Fifteen minutes." Aya told him, turned back to look out into the hall.  
  
"Fifteen?" Omi squeaked. Aya gave him a look that plainly said, *you heard me the first time*. "But…weren't they supposed to contact us before they actually turned anything on?"  
  
"They were. They had trouble." It was all Aya was willing to say on the subject, but it was enough. Omi understood what had happened.  
  
"Hurry up, you!" He hissed at the computer. Behind him, Aya stepped back into the hall. The sound of approaching, heavily booted feet approaching drifted in. "Dammit!!"  
  
%%%  
  
"Balinese!! Stop slacking off and give me a hand!!!" Ken screamed at him, wading through the hordes of guards, splashing red to the left and right like a kid in a wading pool. Youji nodded and didn't. He had Omi's blueprints in hand, but it was hard to read them while trying not to get shot, stabbed or otherwise mutilated. Even with the lights on, he couldn't make heads or tails out of it. Wondered how Ken had, in the dark.  
  
"Hey, Siberian! You read, I slice an' dice. You're making a mess." Ken paused long enough to glare over his shoulder.  
  
"Forget the fucking prints, and help me out!!!" He yelled, bugnuks flashing before another wave of red splashed to the floor and across the wall. Messy weapon. He wondered how Ken ever got the blood out of his assassin gear. His own wire was tidy, neat, clean and graceful. It left it's hideaway in his trick watch with a musical whistle as he sent it out into the group of guards and goons, wrapping around a neck, sharp enough to slice through windpipes before he tugged it loose and sent it out again.  
  
"Good enough for ya?" He asked Ken, stepping up beside the shorter brunette, the blueprints had dropped to the blood spattered floor, where they promptly proceeded to become red and soggy.  
  
"Fuck you." Ken replied, temper high as it always was when he was fighting.  
  
"I'd fuck you back." Youji replied smoothly, smirked as Ken choked on his retort.  
  
"We need to get to Abyssinian and Bombay." He said instead, lashing out and catching someone across the face, sending their cap skittering across the floor, streaking red on the tiles. Youji winced in sympathy. They would probably need dental records to identify that guy, If Ken hadn't knocked his teeth out that is.  
  
"Go!!!" Youji yelled, as his wire thinned the herd enough to create a narrow space, wide enough to fight through if he was following in the wake of Ken's bugnuks.  
  
  
  
00:10:00  
  
Sprinting down the halls. The sound of their booted feet no longer loud as gunshots, drowned out now by the echo of their pursuers, one hall and a turn behind them. Ken supposed it was just as good that he spent the weekends playing soccer. It made these infuriatingly frequent breakneck- speed evasions a little easier to handle.  
  
Youji, however, wasn't quite as fast, though he somehow managed to stay in surprisingly good shape for someone who put so much effort into *not* making an effort. Even now, his eyelids half-drooped in a sleepy, amused expression. As if this were all a mildly entertaining joke he was taking part in, and not even all that active a part at that.  
  
"Holy shit!" Ken cursed, skidding to a halt as they rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with a wall. Dead-end.  
  
"You're the one who said to forget the blueprints." Youji helpfully pointed out, peering over his shades at the wall, as if it might be something other than what it appeared to be.  
  
"I didn't say to chuck 'em!" Ken retorted, pivoting so he could put his back to the wall. He almost contacted Aya for help, but remembered in time that their partners were in a bit of a fix themselves and in no position to be running to anyone's rescue. Remembered, actually, that he and Youji were supposed to be the cavalry this time.  
  
"Well, gee." Youji shot back, turning to face the direction the guards would come from, leaning casually against the wall and puffing on his cigarette. God, had he been smoking that thing the entire time they'd been running? "You could have been more specific."  
  
"You could have used your brain!" Ken snapped, frustrated and exasperated. Youji just shrugged.  
  
"We're dead!" Ken ranted, his voice rising even as his body remained poised and still.  
  
"Nah." Youji smirked, kept smoking as the guards rounded the corner. "Hmm." He observed. "Took 'em a while this time." He made a show of checking his watch. Maybe checking how much time they had left, maybe checking his wire. Maybe really timing the guards. Ken wouldn't put it past him.  
  
Still, Youji could get very serious very fast, and he did when they caught the dull flash of a gun's barrel. All jest and mock-playfulness falling away as green eyes scanned the hallway. Even the cigarette fell from his lips to the smooth tiles of the floor as he grabbed Ken's arms and half-hauled, half-threw him down the hall.  
  
"What the hell are you doing, using me as a human shield?" Ken yelled, warily searching for firearms amongst the guards as Youji shoved him through a door, bounding after, hard on his heels. Ken looked around. "Where are we anyway?"  
  
"Looks like a closet."  
  
Sure enough, mops and brooms and leaned against one wall, buckets and dust pans piles in a corner, hemmed in by bottles of floor cleaner and Windex and polish. Another door opened out the other side of it, and Ken and Youji spilled through it at the same time that the guards shot out the lock of the first door. Youji spun and locked the second behind them, too. "Maybe they'll run out of bullets before they get to us." He suggested. Ken snorted.  
  
"Sure." As he saw it, Youji was leading them from one bad spot to another. The two of them stood in the middle of a tiled room, one high window along the far wall granting a narrow glimpse of night sky. A bank of sinks lined one wall, and a row of stalls the other. Ken frowned at them, then at Youji, who appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be lighting another cigarette. "Now what?"  
  
"It's a ladies' room." Youji, master of the obvious. Ken rolled his eyes.  
  
"Great. We need to get out of here, Balinese!" He sighed, exasperated, heading for the door to the hall. He didn't like the way his booted feet slid on the tiles. Not much traction. A pretty crappy floor for a bathroom. He imagined how treacherous it would be when wet. "What about Bombay and—"  
  
Before he could finish his sentence, a second gunshot rang out. "Fuck it!" They moved to flank the door to the closet, eyes darting to the exit. Maybe they could get out before the guards got in. Even as that thought ran through Ken's mind, the closet door was  
  
shoved roughly open.  
  
Youji strangled the first guard with his wire, blood spurting from the almost surgical cut across his throat. Ken gutted the second, bugnuks flashing, eyes flashing. An almost addictive adrenaline rush flooding his system. It made the killing almost a dance. Not as smooth as Youji's, not as graceful as Aya's, but a dance all the same.  
  
Guards were flooding in from the other door now, too. Goddamit!! They had to get out of here. They had to get to Aya and Omi.  
  
  
  
00:08:30  
  
Omi fought the urge to run and assist Aya, still fighting in the hall, still covering for Omi while he got the remainder of the files. Not fighting to win, but to stall. Long enough to finish the job and get the hell out of there. The screen flashed.  
  
Oh shit. Another hang up. The progress bar flashed the unchanging numbers at him. "Hurry up!!" He yelled at it, in a fit of childish pique. "What? You think I've got all day?" The urge to kick the damned thing in was starting to gnaw at him, fraying already strained nerves.  
  
Ken liked the adrenaline rush of tight situations. Omi hated it. Hated the way it made his palms sweat, made his practiced fingers unsteady on computer keys. The way it sometimes made his unfailing accuracy a little wavery, the way it made his heart jump to his  
  
throat and start beating wildly, cutting off breath and making him light headed. Most of all, he hated the fear that fed it.  
  
Fear for himself, yes, that was always there, but he'd been in this line of work so long. As long as he could remember. There was nothing before the killing and the hunting. Nothing but brief flashes of half- glimpsed uncertain images which could have been imagined as well as remembered. He'd been in this so long that it wasn't the fear for himself that made his hands quake and his heart race. No. It was fear for red haired Aya, fighting on his own out in the hall. One slender sword and one gun against anything the guards could throw his way. For Ken and Youji, also probably in trouble now that they'd been detected. He hadn't heard from them, but knew they were reporting straight to Aya so they wouldn't distract him from his hacking. Heh. It was the not knowing that was distracting. He hoped they weren't too badly outnumbered.  
  
It wouldn't have mattered if they called him, even if it could have impeded his work. He had nothing to do but wait now anyway. Just stand watch over the computer, in case someone tried to cancel out his hacking. Stand watch, and wait.  
  
He had so clench his hands on the edge of the desk to keep from running to assist Aya.  
  
%%%  
  
There were a lot of them. There were always a lot of them. It was strange, actually, how they had managed to survive this long, always outnumbered, perpetually overpowered. It all sometimes seemed like some sick cosmic joke. The universe allowing them to live a little longer just so they could suffer through one more day of pain, of guilt, of *being*.  
  
But of course, he couldn't believe in fate. Believing in fate meant believing that Aya-chan had deserved to be put into a coma, that his family had, on some level, deserved to die. He could believe that for himself. He could believe that, with his blood stained hands, for him death would be just. Less than just, because what he'd done, what he did, could not be paid for by one life. But not for *her* and not for *them*.  
  
So the only thing left to believe was the darkness. Because that was palpable and tangible, and he'd lived with it every day for so long. Because in the dark, you couldn't see the turns and the pitfalls that the road ahead of you held, and that made sense, too, because he sure as hell hadn't seen this one. This was a pitfall that dropped away beneath his feet. One day he would stop falling. He wondered what would happen when he hit the bottom.  
  
A bright ribbon of pain tore his mind back to the problem at hand. What was he doing? Drifting away like that in the middle of a fight? He knew better than that. He was stronger than that. That kind of stupidity that kind of weakness, was liable to get himself and Omi, and maybe Youji and Ken killed. That kind of weakness was unforgivable.  
  
He turned the rage around. Directed his anger at himself on the guards pressing in, like ants at war. Too many of them, and more likely on the way. Like ants, faceless and uniform, every one nothing more than a cardboard cutout of a man. Each face blurring into the next. At least for a span of several minutes. Then a familiar voice was in his head.  
  
Cardboard people. Cardboard doesn't bleed, Abyssinian. He tensed, startled by the words forming unbidden in his mind, sounding loud as a palpable voice in his ears. It left enough of an opening for someone to get off a shot. Hot pain flared in his shoulder. He hadn't even heard the gunshot.  
  
I wonder if you even care anymore how many you kill? Remember the first? The first taste of blood on your blade?  
  
Damn it!! No!! he wasn't going to listen to this. He was stronger than this!! This kind of weakness….  
  
Or maybe you've killed so many, it doesn't really matter  
  
anymore. The voice was quiet and thoughtful. Amused. He was furious at it. It made his attacks all the more savage. It just makes you so much more the killer.  
  
Hn. Not. Listening. To. This.  
  
And do you know why, Abyssinian?  
  
Not. Listening…. I'm. Not. That. Weak.  
  
He couldn't see the bodies falling away beneath his blade anymore. They were a blur of black and white uniforms and red. His attackers were a blur of movement. His katana moved on it's own, hundreds of hours of monotonous practice bringing each stroke down in time to save his life.  
  
Do you know what makes you nothing but a killer now? Why  
  
you're irredeemable?  
  
Can't acknowledge this. He knew what it was like to have other's voices in his head. That damned German had been there before. Had practically taken up residence there in the days after the accident that had torn away his life. He'd been absent for a while. Strange how he'd occasionally missed that voice. It had drowned out the more painful voice of his conscience.  
  
%%%  
  
Omi looked up from the computer at the sound of a crash. Looked up in time to see Aya hit the floor and bounce back up like those blow-up punching bags for kids. The ones with the weight in the bottom. Of course, with Aya it wasn't a mindless, comical bobbing motion, but a graceful spring, coming quickly to a low crouch on the balls of his feet, one hand against the floor for balance, one clutching his katana. Then he was a flash of black and red, and was out of sight again.  
  
This time Omi did get up. He knew enough not to go out into the hall, when his duties very clearly lay with the computer and the data they needed, but he did go far enough to get a slightly broader view of the hall. What he saw surprised him. He hadn't seen Aya fight  
  
like that since Takatori, not with that almost blind rage that turned his calculated swings and swipes into nothing more than a series of furiously paced reflex actions. Graceful and smooth still, but the it was the grace of an angered, injured wild beast, instead of  
  
Abyssinian's cold elegance.  
  
"Abyssinian?" He yelled, loud enough to attract Aya's attention. Again, "Abyssinian!" Louder than before. More than sufficient. Enough to turn some of the guard's eyes to him. "ABYSSINIAN!!!" Nothing. For some reason or other, Aya wasn't responding.  
  
"Abyssinian!!!"  
  
  
  
00:07:00  
  
"Shit." Youji checked his watch again, a quick glance down as he pulled his wire out in one smooth movement. "Shit."  
  
"What?" Ken was backed to the wall beside him, a moment of reprieve, enough to pause for a couple of seconds to get some breath back.  
  
"We're not gonna get to 'em in time. Not if we have to wade through this mess." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the bathroom they had just vacated and the pile of injured, unconscious and dead they had left behind.  
  
"Yeah. And you can bet there'll be more where those came from." Ken's bugnuks made soft *snickt* sounds as he sprang them, then released, and sprang them again. How did he ever get the blood out of the mechanism? The blades slid out, *snickt*, in, and out again, *snickt*. Ken's nervous habit was driving him insane.  
  
"Yeah. There would have to be, wouldn't there?" Youji sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair in tired frustration, not caring for a moment that he was leaving streaks of red in the honey blonde strands. He didn't like what he knew they were going to have  
  
to do.  
  
"We have to abort." Ken, saying it for him. Voice and expression so grim that Youji couldn't imagine him as the Kenken of the Koneko no Sumu Ie. He was only Siberian now. Being Siberian, because Ken would never have been able to say what he said next. "It's waste of time trying to fight our way all the way to 'em and them out again. We'll never make it." Ken pulled at his sleeve while he talked, getting them both moving down the hall again, a tired scuffle that slowly escalated into a run, "Abyssinian and Bombay will  
  
have to manage to get out on their own."  
  
Even trying so hard to be nothing but the killer, Ken couldn't keep the hurt out of his eyes and out of his voice as he suggested they leave their team mates. Youji didn't reply, concentrating on running, on keeping up with speedy Ken, on not yelling at him that that was a betrayal. He was the eldest. And since Aya wasn't here to make any decision, he had to be the one to nod. To make Ken's suggestion reality. Hell, if Aya had asked for backup, it was a sure thing they were in trouble. He didn't like leaving them to their own devices, either. The backup shouldn't ever abandon the main team. But they shouldn't run into near certain death, either. Not when it would accomplish anything. Going to Aya and Omi would leave him and Ken firmly in the center of the building, far from any exits, when the first of the bombs went off.  
  
"Tell Abyssinian we're getting out of here. Abort."  
  
Ken nodded and touched his earpiece. "Abyssinian. No time to party. Abort mission." He repeated the message, then blinked, still running, and looked up at Youji.  
  
"He's not answering."  
  
Youji tried. Nothing. There was the soft beep that indicatedhe was through, and the buzz and clash and yelling of fighting. But no Aya. "Abyssinian!! Abort mission!! Get your butts outta there."  
  
Still no reply.  
  
%%%  
  
He was gone. Even in this state, he knew it. The voice was in his head, and while he wasn't weak--Wasn't. Weak. Goddammit!!!–-it seemed that the voice in his head, in his ears, was stronger.  
  
He saw nothing now of his attackers, his adversaries, nothing of the fluorescent lit walls, and the blood soaked carpet. There was still the faint buzz of impact vibrating along his sword, but nothing more. The sword itself was nothing more than a concept in his mind, a ray of light that he clung to. A blade was power and his blade was the only power he'd ever had to fight back against this-this thing that had been a life. His life.  
  
I thought you'd want to know. I thought you'd want to know  
  
what makes you what you are now. Amused curiosity. Do you want to  
  
know what you are now?  
  
"NO!! Go away."  
  
Distant clang of metal against metal. Faint buzz of a voice in his ear, overpowered by the louder, more seductive voice in his mind. A voice that surrounded him and pressed on all his senses. Great. All he needed was a second voice to torment him.  
  
You do want to know. I'll tell you.  
  
"Leave me alone. I need to—" He couldn't remember. The only need he knew was to get away from that voice in his ears, in his mind. "I need to—I have to—have to—"  
  
Have to stop killing? Worse than a murderer. Murderers kill  
  
for a reason. What's yours? What's your excuse?  
  
"Excuse?"  
  
She's awake. What's your excuse for still killing? You could  
  
stop now. Could so easily stop.  
  
His body was moving on it's own, freed of any restraint the mind might have had over it, killing without a thought, all reflexive action and survival instinct. No Aya. No Ran. Just Abyssinian.  
  
  
  
00:06:40  
  
Ken kept running, fighting the urge to ask Youji how much time they had left. How long they had to get out of here. He could hear the taller man puffing behind him. His own lungs were developing a twinge, not burning yet but getting there. All this fighting, all this running. He wondered how Youji's lungs felt, what with all the smoking and drinking and laying about the man did. Really, he should have been big as an icebox with his lifestyle, not scrawny as he was, all skin and bone and sinewy muscle. He sneaked a glance over his shoulder at the other.  
  
Youji was red-faced with exertion and panting with the effort of keeping up with Ken, and the brunette felt a slight stab of pity, but wasn't willing to slow down just for Youji's comfort. He didn't want to slow down until they were out of the building and free to  
  
flop onto the grass and die of oxygen debt. Oxygen. He looked again at Youji's puffing face and decided he didn't want to know about his lungs.  
  
Instead, he reached for his comm again and contacted Omi. "Bombay."  
  
"Yeah?" Omi's strained voice, sounding tense and angry and impatient.  
  
"Shit!! Fucker." Ken swore as bullets thudded into the wall between his head and Youji's. He put on an extra burst of speed.  
  
"Jeez!!!" Youji yelped, "Do they never quit?"  
  
"What is it?" Omi asked, worried, yelling in his ear.  
  
"We're not gonna get to you guys, Bombay. You've gotta abort and get out. We've got…?"  
  
Youji checked. "Six minutes, seventeen seconds."  
  
"Six sixteen."  
  
"Ok. See you outside."  
  
  
  
00:06:15  
  
He waited an extra second or two. The file was almost done, anyway. Maybe it was Aya's stubbornness rubbing off on him. He didn't know. Still, it felt like a cowardly shame to abort two or three seconds early and lose all the information they'd come for. They had six  
  
minutes. Enough time. Enough.  
  
100%  
  
Omi grinned. "Finally." Two or three seconds could last a lifetime.  
  
He popped the disk out of the drive, and, clasping it firmly in one small hand, bounded to the door, beyond which Aya was still fighting with crazed efficiency, terribly deadly, terribly beautiful. Omi could imagine the specter of death looking something like Aya.  
  
"Abort!" Omi yelled at him, but again got no response. "Abyssinian!!" Nothing. "ABYSSINIAN!!! ABORT!!! WE'VE GOTTA GO!!!"  
  
"SHUT UP!!!" Aya's scream was choked. His body moving fluidly even though he sounded like he was being strangled.  
  
"ABYSSINIAN!!! WE NEED TO ABORT!!!" Omi stepped into the hallway, prepared to drag Aya out of there even if it meant he would lose and arm in the process.  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!!" A sword slash. Dangerously close to Omi's face. It made the young assassin rethink his plans.  
  
"GO AWAY!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" But…Aya wasn't screaming at him. Aya hadn't even looked in his direction. Aya was fighting like there was no tomorrow and who cared if there was? He would have killed Omi without a second thought if he got too close. Omi darted back into the office, back against the wall beside the door where he could handle anyone who might enter, be it guards or an insane Aya.  
  
"Balinese. There's a problem with Abyssinian." Faint echo of having said those words in the past, after seeing Aya in a similar state of mind. It seemed so long ago, yet so recent. It was like they'd been Weiss forever. "I don't think I can get through to him."  
  
  
  
00:06:00  
  
"What? What the fuck are you taking about?" Youji was beyond pantingfor breath, words rasping out as he pounded down the halls after Ken, who was, maddeningly, looking like he was just enjoying another day in the park. The brunette tossed him a questioning look over one shoulder, then stopped and let Youji run past him. He heard the slash and gurgle behind him, then Ken was hard on his heels and catching up fast.  
  
"What is it?" Ken yelled, as they both ducked around a corner and out of the line of fire. Youji hoped to any god that might be out there that they were really heading out of the building.  
  
"Abyssinian."  
  
"Is he hurt?"  
  
"Don't know. He's gone Takatori-shi-Ne crazy."  
  
Ken's eyes widened.  
  
"Only more so. Bombay can't get through to him or to him without getting mangled."  
  
"More so?" Ken sighed in disbelief. How he could while running for his dear life was beyond Youji, but he knew what Ken was thinking, and it was the right thing to do, however painful. Hmmm. Two betrayals in one day. One night, he corrected. Yup. They were definitely on a roll. He keyed his earpiece.  
  
"Bombay. There's nothing you can do. Leave him if you have to. Just get out of there."  
  
No reply.  
  
"Do you hear me, Bombay? Every man for himself. Just get the hell out of there. Got it? Leave Abyssinian and get the hell out."  
  
"But—"  
  
"GET OUT BOMBAY!!! NOW!!!"  
  
"Uh…O-Okay. Got it!" Omi spat it, sounding hurt and disgusted and like he was going to break into tears the moment it was prudent to do so. Well, better to lose one than both.  
  
  
  
00:05:00  
  
Fighting the way he was, with no though to anything but to kill—No, Omi corrected, no thought to anything—Aya was being slowly herded back, the remaining guards more than a match for his already injured, bleeding body. Somehow, though, some deep-rooted instinct still seemed to remind him that his job here was to protect Omi, because, while he could have backed away down the hall, he hadn't. Instead, he had backed towards the office, still covering Omi, though it served to do nothing but trap them both inside as he was forced back into the room.  
  
It reminded Omi of the brawls Aya and Ken still sometimes had, the 'differences of opinion'. Blows and limbs everywhere, moving in a blur so that you didn't know who was landing more punches and who was getting the pulp beat out of them. Aya was no more than a flash of dark leather and blood red hair as he struggled to cover the doorway. The occasional flash of silver off the buckles of his trench as he darted one way, a brilliant slash of steel, and then he was darting back again, hilt wrapped in both gloved hands, shoulders hunched as if the weapon were too heavy for him. Looking like a predator or like  
  
wounded, crazed prey. Omi couldn't decide which.  
  
Omi shoved the disk into the inside pocket of his jacket and when his hand withdrew, darts fanned from his closed fist. The crossbow was more powerful, deadlier, but it took time to reload and this fight was too close and too fast for that. With a deep breath, he armed his other hand as well and stepped into the fray.  
  
  
  
00:04:30  
  
What had already been a maddeningly fast run for Youji had escalated into a desperate sprint when he checked his watch and realized they weren't anywhere near an exit yet. He called out again to Aya and Omi, heard Ken doing the same.  
  
Aya still wasn't replying, still only the sounds of fighting came across. Actually, scratch that. He could hear Aya yelling something indiscernible, but he was fairly certain it wasn't directed at him, nor at Omi, by the sound of it. And it sure as hell wasn't 'shi-Ne'. What was wrong with the redhead *this* time? God, they'd all joked about Aya's sanity—behind his back—but to actually have it fall away like this, and during a mission….  
  
At least Omi was answering. Loud, desperate yelling, broken by the sounds of fighting and dying and Aya in the background, loudly going insane. He couldn't make out Omi's words, not all of them, anyway, but from what he could gather, they were still in that office.  
  
"Holy shit!!" He yelled, frustrated, surprised that his lungs could still support that outburst without exploding messily all over the place. If he got out of this, he swore he'd take up jogging and exercise and quit smoking. "They're still up there!!!"  
  
Ken nodded grimly and kept running. Feet pounding the floor.  
  
"We can't so anything, Balinese." He panted, feet skittering on tile as he rounded a corner. Youji checked his watch and followed, kept yelling at Omi to get out.  
  
  
  
00:04:00  
  
It was dark. He wondered that a place could be so utterly lacking in light. Wondered that he could still see himself when he looked down at his hands, his clothes. His assassin's gear. Dark trench and dark gloves clearly visible even the complete dark, even without the  
  
faintest source of light.  
  
It was familiar here. He'd been here before, many times, after his family's death. Many times even after Takatori, the murderer, was dead. Not since Aya had woken, though. Not since his sister had opened her eyes. He thought that her light had banished this dark for good. Strange. So much that was strange.  
  
Strange that it was still here. Strange that it had survived. Strange that he hadn't known better. hadn't known better when all he's had to do was reach inside and feel that hard knot of pain in his chest. Strange that he hadn't even thought to do that since she'd  
  
woken.  
  
Strange that you kept killing, even after she was well and out of hospital. Strange that you kept it up even after you didn't need to anymore. That's the difference between a killer and a murderer, Ran-chan.  
  
He looked up from his dark gloves and cast about the place, looking for the speaker. Whoever it was wasn't here. Just a disembodied voice and himself. The voice echoed a little bit more here than it had before, the sound just a touch muted by the overly loud beat of his heart in his chest. He was lightheaded from the rush of blood, nauseous. He needed to stop. No. He wasn't that weak. He could find his way out of here.  
  
Really? Seems to me, your ways out have never been the right ones. Stepping further from the light with each fork in the road.  
  
"Go away." The was no longer any strength to scream at the voice as he sank down to his knees, his legs bonelessly giving way beneath him. "Go away." There was laughter.  
  
You've hated a murderer, Ran-chan, Aya, but at least murderers kill for a reason. Killers kill for no reason. Which are you, Abyssinian?  
  
"Leave me alone. Go away."  
  
And then it did and he was alone. Alone and with no way out. Trapped in the dark.  
  
Alone.  
  
%%%  
  
Omi was tired. Dead tired. He wasn't built nor armed for this kind of fight. Always, well, almost always, he was Weiss's tactician and sniper, rarely getting as close as Ken and Aya and Youji did. And now he was practically being forced to use his darts as Ken did his bugnuks. He couldn't afford to lose them and be left unarmed. He had to chase them up when he could, dodging and diving and rolling to pluck one out of a dead throat and fling it into a living one. Soon, though, he'd have to turn to his crossbow. he was losing darts anyway.  
  
"Abyssinian!" He yelled suddenly, darting forward. A gap in the fighting. He had seen it. He needed Aya's help to battle through it, however. He was too small to be much good save to offer cover fire.  
  
He was already running for it when he realized Aya wasn't. Aya was still fighting. Aya was ignoring him and their chance--possibly their only chance--at getting out of here alive.  
  
"Abyssinian!!!" Omi's cry was almost a plea, almost a sob. God, let Aya get it together enough for us to survive and get out!  
  
And then the gap was gone, Aya still blind and deaf to the world.  
  
  
  
00:03:30  
  
He was thinking of sleep. Thinking of getting back to their apartment so he could curl up in the nearest available corner and pass out. He knew it was dangerous to be thinking such things now, but he couldn't really help it. He was tired, his pre-growth-spurt body not used to fighting grown men practically hand to hand. He glanced at Aya, thinking that this fighting part was supposed to be his job.  
  
He only caught a flash of bright red hair, and then Aya was gone, swallowed under guards who were now free to get at him. Omi tossed his darts up, getting two guards in the face as he dove amongst legs and into a roll, coming up beside Aya. Aya's gun. He always carried that .22. His only hope now was Aya's gun.  
  
00:03:15  
  
"Balinese, I think that's an exit."  
  
"Looks like and exit to me."  
  
"Beautiful."  
  
It would have been even more beautiful if Ken hadn't insisted on accelerating yet again. Just how many speeds did little Kenken have, anyway? Youji had known cars that didn't accelerate this much.  
  
"Bombay!!" He tried again. Nothing now. "Abyssinian?" Even though that was a lost cause, he had to try it. "Abyssinian?"  
  
Ken was echoing him, desperation in his voice. Tears in his voice now that they were so close to an out. The last fucking thing he needed was an emotional Kenken instead of a deadly Siberian. "Bombay!!" Ken was pissed at Aya for losing it. He wasn't even trying Aya's comm. "Bombay!!!"  
  
  
  
00:03:00  
  
Outside.  
  
At last he could stop running, could look around and realize that, somewhere along the way, they had lost their pursuers. Guess that was a good thing. He wanted to kill something right now, but they'd been so preoccupied with Aya and Omi's safety that they'd  
  
likely have taken a good number of bullets in the back had anyone been tailing them closely enough.  
  
"They're still in there, aren't they?" he asked, anger in his voice. Anger at Aya. Anger at Youji. Aya was the leader. He was fucking responsible for them. He was god damned fucking responsible for Omi. And to let whatever it was that had taken him over take him over right there, in the middle of everything going to shit…. It was unforgivable. And Youji! Youji who'd told them to run and leave their teammates…. He knew he'd suggested it himself in the first place, but Youji had actually turned it into a decision.  
  
"Yeah." Youji's voice was quiet as they moved to get away from the building, to be safe when it finally blew. "Yeah, I think they're still in there."  
  
"You think? You think? How do we know where they are? If the building goes do we look for them?"  
  
"When." Youji corrected.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"When the building goes." He lit a cigarette.  
  
"Fuck. When the building goes, yeah." Ken snapped sarcastically, eyeballing Youji as he inhaled deeply.  
  
"What are you bitching at me for?" Youji sounded peeved. "Why don't you try to comm them again, or something. It'll keep your mind off the PMS. Jeez." Youji stalked away into the darkness, Ken following after a hard look at lighted windows, looking for any movement, any sign of the other two.  
  
  
  
00:02:00  
  
"They're still not out." Youji said, staring to twitch with a bad case of the nerves. "They're still not out."  
  
"Yeah. Still no word, either." Ken paced frantically, back and forth in front of dimmed dead headlights, Aya's Porsche purring softly in the darkness in case they needed to make a quick getaway.  
  
Youji took another long drag, glancing up at the building. The upper stories were clearly visible over the trees, the grounds displayed in a series of windows across the laptop screen in the back seat. Ken kept pacing back to look at it, then pacing away to look at the building. Driving himself and Youji insane.  
  
"Have they got tracers?" He asked, for what must be the millionth time.  
  
"No." Youji replied for the millionth time. "It was supposed to be an easy job. We didn't bother, remember? That's why I hate routine jobs. Routine makes you lazy."  
  
"God, what are we gonna do?" Ken was looking up at the stars as he said, so Youji wasn't sure exactly who was being addressed. If Ken was just cursing, or if he was really trying to contact a deity who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in screwing them all over. Repeatedly. "How are we gonna find them in that mess? Do we even look for them?"  
  
Youji didn't know how to answer that. He didn't wasn't to ask why Ken thought there's be anything left to look for.  
  
  
  
00:01:00  
  
"I don't think there'll be anything left to look for." Youji said, looking up at the building.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Or if there is, I doubt you'll wanna bring it home with you."  
  
"Ewww." Ken made a face, then looked green. "Shut up, Youji!!" Codenames forgotten in that fit of anger and fear. "They're gonna be okay. I know they will be. I'll fucking kill Ay—Abyssinian if they're not."  
  
  
  
00:00:30  
  
"They're dead, aren't they? They're gonna die, if they aren't dead already." Ken cried, reality hitting him with the force of a blow. He crumpled, near enough to the car that he could lean back against a tire and stare up at the building. "Anything on screen?"  
  
Youji looked. "No. Nothing."  
  
"Shit. They're not gonna make it. We might as well give up. We might as well go home."  
  
  
  
00:00:07  
  
"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS?" Ken screamed into the comm. "GET YOUR BUTTS OUTTA THERE NOW!!! ANSWER ME DAMMIT!!! GOD, FUCKIN' ANSWER ME!!!" He sounded do close to tears that Youji didn't know whether to start screaming himself or just smack Ken before he got hysterical. On second thought, he probably was hysterical already.  
  
"Keep it down. We're exactly not safe out here."  
  
"Damn it…" Ken whispered, "Answer, Bombay…Abyssinian."  
  
  
  
00:00:05  
  
"IF YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES DON'T SHOW UP IN TWO SECONDS, I'M GONNA—" Youji screamed into the comm, "FUCK, I DUNNO WHAT I'M GONNA DO, BUT AIN'T GONNA BE PRETTY!!! YOU HEAR ME?!! FUCKING ANSWER, YOU CRAZY SON OF A BITCH!!!"  
  
The lights in the building flickered off. The squares showing the yard still online, but cloaked in darkness.  
  
"No." They both whispered at the same time.  
  
  
  
00:00:04  
  
The first explosion blew out all the building's windows. That must have been the one on the generator, judging by how the lights cut.  
  
  
  
00:00:03  
  
Guilt ran through both of them. Four seconds early. Who'd made the mistake? Between Ken's bickering and Youji's smoking and retorts, had they been paying attention to what they'd been doing? Did it matter? Would an extra three or four seconds have seen Aya and Omi alive and safe?  
  
Ken was back on his feet, not knowing when he'd risen, "OMIIIII!!!…"  
  
  
  
00:00:02  
  
The second explosion rocked the building and the ground beneath their feet. Fire leapt out of the upper stories, licking at the night sky. The ones rigged to take out the executive offices near the top, where they had done most of their scrounging tonight. Best and surest way to hide any tracks they might have inadvertently left behind.  
  
Just one left. The gas main. The one that would bring the whole thing down.  
  
  
  
00:00:01  
  
"NO!!!" Youji bolted out of the car and towards the building, stopping only when Ken grabbed him and muscled him down onto the damp grass. "NO!! DAMN IT, NO!!!" His cries may as well have been sobs, his cigarette still somehow managing to cling between his teeth as he screamed. "NO, OMIII!!! AYAAA!!! God, no…." The absurd thought flashed across his mind that this was happening because he'd broken his promise. He'd promised to stop smoking if he and Ken got out alive….  
  
  
  
00:00:00  
  
The last of the explosions blew debris and flames high into the night sky. Flakes of plaster and sparks drifted over Youji and Ken, ashes a ludicrous clean white on their dark clothes. The windows on the computer screen echoed the sky, darkness broken by white specks, static instead of ash. The cameras blown out or melted down.  
  
There was still no sign of Aya or Omi.  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC…  
  
^^;  
  
########  
  
I was gonna end this with just the clock reading 00:00:00, but  
  
then I thought that was a bit confusing. It looked weird, too. There.  
  
I hope I got all the italics fixed and all the times centered and  
  
evrything. If something doesn't make sense...that's cause I'm baka. I  
  
think there are a few contradictions in there, like the hallway Aya's  
  
fighting in. I think I mentioned it as tiled, then as carpeted.  
  
COuldn't find the tiled reference back, though. If you find any  
  
others, or anyone is OOC, or you just hate it all please let me know,  
  
so I can change/fix it. Onegai? 


	2. ayachan and the koneko no sumu ie

This thing could end up eating my life. Even short outlines seem to end up rather long once written out. ^^; And I have no idea where it's going quite yet...  
  
Title: Steel runs in the blood [2/??]  
  
Pairings: Y /A in the next chapt. Don't hold your breath. Its mild.  
  
Summary: When the Abyssinian is badly injured during a mission it's up to the other Aya (Yup, Aya-chan!) to keep the team together.  
  
Rating and warnings: PG-13(?) For violence, angst, and language.  
  
Spoilers: Many, but not necessarily overly correct: Aya(kun)'s real name and very likely everyone's pasts, Botan, Aya-chan's accident. Etc etc. List goes on indefinitely, but these are the main spoilers so far. And I improvise/change anything I don't know or doesn't fit  
  
the plot. (as if I had one ^^;)  
  
Status: In progress. But if you all hate it, I can drag it out back and shoot it in the head for you. It's a first fic. Be gentle. Also, I have a really bad track record for finishing things I start.  
  
Thanks to: some person called Yen, who wrote the fic, `Aya's Scheme'. Something Youji says in that inspired the title of this one. It all grew from there.  
  
Disclaimer: I'm using Weiss and it's characters without permission. This story is written for fun only and I'm not making any money off of it. All characters and most of everything else belong to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss, and not, unfortunately, to me.  
  
*This* means emphasis. However, I did figure out that to do *this* within a thought is really confusing. So now thoughts and remembered conversations (Memories are thoughts, right?) are indicated by //this//, okay?  
  
  
  
########  
  
steel runs in the blood  
  
by dragonflyred7  
  
  
  
interlude: aya and the koneko no sumu ie  
  
  
  
A small flower shop on the corner of an unassuming, relatively quiet Tokyo street was her home now. Not even that much of an eye-catcher as a shop, its best feature, she thought, being its name, cutely dubbed the Koneko no Sumu Ie--the Kitten in the House. Half-hidden behind a sidewalk display of roses and sunflowers, this was her home now. Or, to be more exact, the one of the apartments upstairs was. Home.  
  
She didn't know if she really thought of it as such yet, or as merely a roof and a place to lay her head at night. She hadn't grown up here, tending this shop and these flowers. She'd grown up in a different part of town altogether. A part of town where the children didn't have to balance study and work, and did so only for the experience they would require when they took over their parents' businesses.  
  
Not that she was complaining. It wasn't the work she minded. In fact, she rather enjoyed it most of the time. There was just a feeling of *wrongness* still. As if all this wasn't real. She'd felt that strongly the first time she'd laid eyes on the friendly storefront. Home. Home. Repetition hadn't helped then. She'd tried it anyway, over the first few weeks. It was better now. She didn't feel like a stranger here now. But still, every time she stepped into the shop, or into the kitchen, there was a definite feeling of something missing.  
  
Her mind knew this was where she lived now. Her heart still expected her to step out of her brother's flashy little Porsche and into the familiar house of years ago. The house she still half-expected her clothes to smell like. The house where her mother would be cooking or reading and her father working in his study or sitting out back, talking with a friend. That's what was missing at the shop. The feeling of coming home. She wondered if she would ever come home again.  
  
Aya leant close over the potted plant she was watering, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of roses as she pressed a hand to the soil, checking that it was damp enough. In the summer heat, the bright red petals seemed a little wilted and tired. She sighed, removing her fingers from the dirt to gently trace the edge of one delicate flower, humming softly as she tipped the watering can over the pot again. A few more drops. Just so the poor thing wouldn't die of heat out here on display. Smiling, she straightened and stretched.  
  
The shop was quieter now, with the four boys--she couldn't help but think of them as such--gone, away on 'vacation', or as Youji put it, "To find some eligibles. That's why you can't come, Aya-chan. Hard to pick up chicks with a chick hangin' around, you know? 'Specially when she's a *sister*." He'd winked at her then, as if in apology, Omi and Ken nodding along dumbly to the explanation. Hmmph. Well, who wanted to come along on their stupid vacation *anyway*? She'd *much* rather help run the shop with Momoe-san and then go out with Sakura in the afternoons. Stupid Ran- niichan. She paused to glare at the roses. "Stupid Ran-niichan." She repeated out loud, reaching to pick one of the blossoms. Yelped as one of the plant's long thorns pricked her.  
  
Eyeballing the plant in unconscious imitation of her brother, she popped the wounded digit into her mouth. Something was wrong with Ran, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was. She wasn't for a second buying into the story he'd told her, and was sticking to with admirable persistence. What did he think she was? Stupid? If so, then he was forgetting whom among the two of them had brought home the continuous stream of perfect marks. Ha. It sure as heck hadn't been Ran. Not that his grades had been bad, or anything, but he'd been busy obsessing about being accepted by his friends and how much he hated the blood red hair that made him stick out like a sore thumb. Red hair *she'd* envied then and still did now. He *knew* she was smart. So how could he expect her to believe he'd paid for those years of hospital care out of flower shop pay? //I mean, I *know* Ran-niichan has the imaginative powers of a rock, but he could have thought up something better than *that*! // Right? He should have asked Youji. Youji was apparently very good at making up excuses.  
  
It was with a sad sigh that she realized none of that mattered any longer. The grades, the quiet, friendly sibling rivalry. It was all so different now. Those two or so years that had changed Ran so drastically had passed in an eyeblink for her. No. Maybe not an eyeblink. It seemed more like a night. One night of occasional dreams and then she'd woken up in the morning to find her classmates two years ahead of her, her home gone, her parents dead. Somehow she'd hoped that last had been a part of the dreams. Somehow, she'd fallen asleep at the end of a normal day, and woken to find the world changed. The movies she'd been looking forward to seeing long over, the birthday she'd been excitedly planning long gone, along with two others. Somehow, she'd fallen asleep with a shy, quiet, friendly, and very much normal brother, and woken up to *Aya*.  
  
She didn't understand that last, why he'd taken her name. She'd tried once, just once, to ask, but the sudden flash of pain in his eyes had been enough for her to shut off that line of inquiry completely. Forever if need be. She'd just shut up and started calling him `Niichan', turning it to 'Aya-niichan' only much later, after hearing Youji and Ken and Omi repeatedly address him by *her* name had hardened her to the strangeness of it.  
  
She was happy to have him, of course, the only true family she had left--even if the others had slowly slipped by her defenses and into that that category. She liked him still, even so changed, so *sullen*. In fact, it made her love him more because it made her realize that, more than she'd ever thought, beneath the arrogance and aloofness that came with being the older sibling, he'd *needed* her all along. A flash of guilt there. For making him suffer. For being a burden. She'd never meant to do that. She'd spent a much of their childhood trying to prove to him she *wasn't* the delicate, helpless little girl he thought she was. Boy, was she proven wrong.  
  
Not that it mattered. He was *still* trying to protect her still essentially sixteen year old mind. Even now when she lived under the same roof as Youji, who stumbled in at any hour of the night or morning, accompanied more often than not, and just about blind drunk almost every single time. Whose language, even when trying to be polite, was anything and everything *but* clean, and whose innuendo slipped over into absolutely *everything* he did. Yeah. That *all* just slipped her by, clueless thing that she was. She rolled her eyes, moving to refill the watering can. Slipped her by the same way Ran probably thought Ken's surprised, angry expletives did. The way his own brawls with Ken were probably supposed to. Maybe he thought she was deaf, blind *and* stupid. *Really*!! If any of the four of them *wasn't* corrupting her, it was probably cute-as-a-button, innocent Omi. Or maybe Ran just didn't want to admit that things were different now. She knew *she* didn't want to.  
  
She wandered back to the sidewalk display, eyeing the roses again. The half-wilted red ones--she really *should* get them inside--and the white ones Ran had planted for her. She was trying to take good care of those, really *trying*, but even they were looking a little tired around the edges. Maybe she'd take them both inside. The white ones would be in full bloom soon, and she didn't want the plant dead before it happened. Maybe Ran would even be back from vacation in time to see it. They'd said it was only for a few days.  
  
A few days, maybe, but she found she was missing them already. Things were quiet without them. The schoolgirls had no reason to stop, except the few who actually *did* come to buy flowers and not ogle her brother and his friends. Now why in the world would anyone want to ogle Ran, of all people? Sure, he was good looking, but he was also short-tempered and moody and *bossy* as anything, and in her more irritated moods she would go so far as to accuse him of looking like a girl.  
  
And Youji. Youji was smooth; Youji was suave as any movie screen Romeo. Youji was good looking as anything with his green eyes and longish hair and revealing clothes. But anyone who chased after Youji was chasing after a broken heart. He was, in his own way, about as emotionally stunted as her brother seemed to be.  
  
Omi, she could see people wanting to chase. He was cute, he was friendly, he was cheerful. He was cute, friendly and cheerful to the point of irritation. But he was also understanding and helpful and kind. But he also seemed to have a lot of growing up to do. She had never before met a boy Omi's age who could get so flustered over so little. Boys were supposed to be crass and rude and show-offy at Omi's age. Omi was none of these things. He was polite and honest, and, most importantly, he was her friend. It was Omi she'd turned to when she'd needed to talk about her parent's death. Omi was an orphan, Omi would understand in ways Sakura couldn't. And Ran was just too close to be a confidant. Ran was too involved. She didn't want to say anything to him that might resurrect dead demons.  
  
Now Ken she could definitely see as a prospective target. He had an undeniable charm with his short temper and boyish fits of peeve that made his cheeks redden and his chocolate eyes flash. He had an emotional honesty that the others—even Omi, she suspected—lacked. It made him cute and appealing and approachable. Almost enough to make you forgive the messes he habitually left behind him like the wake behind a boat. A trail of turned over pots and scattered soccer magazines and smelly socks that inevitably led to the brunette. Almost made you forgive his cooking—a disaster as often as it was a success. And, if Ran had had the self-control to keep his nose out of *her* business, she might, at a point now probably long past, have seen fit to try a little flirting of her own out on him. Stupid Ran- niichan!  
  
A muffled sound drew her attention and she straightened, dark ponytails swinging as she pun a bit to figure out where the sound had come from. Inside? Yup. There it was again. She tilted her head, what was it? Oh. The phone! Out here it was just a faint distant buzzing. Aya took a step or two backwards, to peer inside the shop. Momoe-san was still sitting there with that peaceful complacency of the aged, still absently stroking the tortoise shell cat that had been chubby with Omi's and Momoe-san's pampering and now, with the addition of Aya's doting, was getting close to obscenely overweight.  
  
The old lady had obviously heard the ringing phone, but was, just as obviously, loathe to move. She just looked up enough to make eye contact, then went back to petting her cat. Aya didn't mind. She just hoped that when she was that age, *she'd* have someone to go get the phone for her when she didn't feel like getting up. Aya hurried inside, setting the watering can down on the corner of the table where ran usually worked on flower arrangements. Absent though on how he'd learnt all that ikebana, when Youji and even Ken were so hopeless at it, and then the phone jangled again.  
  
"Wait. I'm coming. I'm hurrying as fast as I can." Kicking her shoes off as the phone again reminded her that someone was trying to get through. It wasn't the shop phone, but the private one in the communal kitchen. "Hold on, hold on!" Probably one of the numerous Youji-girls, or one of Omi's schoolmates, maybe a member of the soccer team Ken coached, or a parent. Parents had called here more than once to see if their wayward young had followed through on their threats to `run away an live with Ken- niichan'. "Oh, please, hang on!!"  
  
Aya darted through the door marked `private' and across the small living area, then into the kitchen, socked feet slipping on tiles as she ran/skidded to the phone. It was silenced mid-ring as she snatched the receiver up and, rather breathless, loudly called out, "Hello?", triumphant at having got to it in time.  
  
"Uh...um…hi." It was Youji, sounding uncharacteristically awkward. "Aya-chan? Is that you?" No. He sounded more than uncharacteristically awkward. He sounded and serious. Grim even. And grim wasn't, just *wasn't* Youji. She hoped he was okay. Maybe the vacation was a disappointment? Maybe he hadn't found any 'legitimates' or 'eligibles' or whatever he'd called it.  
  
"Youji-niichan? How's your vacation? Are you having fun?" She chirped at him, then, getting no reply, and trying to find something that the *much* older Youji would find interesting, "Are the girls pretty?"  
  
"Um…." Youji laughed nervously, sounding like he'd swallowed an un- swallowable object. Odd that Youji hadn't taken that opportunity to flirt with her, something she knew he did for the sole purpose of irritating Ran, "Yeah. Um, Aya-chan…" he was hesitating, again, and then she heard his voice repeat her question, asking someone in the background, "Hey, our `vacation' any good?" His voice was muffled—maybe he was covering the receiver with a hand—and his emphasis on the word 'vacation' odd. He laughed, sounding bitter in a way Youji never did. Ken's voice, even more muffled, sounding tired, but talking loud and angrily, too fast and too indistinct for her to make out what was being said. Youji sighed, voice again loud and clear, sounding old, sounding tired.  
  
"Listen, Aya," No 'chan', treating her as an adult and an equal, voice so dead serious and devoid of Youji-ness that it sent a shiver down her spine. She had a flash of memory, of Ran's voice, just as old, just as tired, just as serious, //Listen, Aya…// Youji's voice cut into the thought, "Do you remember…"  
  
//Do you remember...//  
  
"Before you came to live with us…"  
  
//Before the…your…accident…//  
  
Her heart jumped into her throat, and started pounding away like a jackhammer. She could almost hear the rush of blood in her veins. If she didn't die of suffocation, she would die from lightheadedness. She needed to sit down. No chair. She hopped up to sit on the counter, barely making it, her knees were suddenly so weak and rubbery.  
  
//Aya, do you remember before the…your…accident? What happened before you…? Aya, do remember our parents…died? …I'm sorry, Aya.//  
  
"…conditions?" Youji was saying.  
  
"S-sorry?"  
  
"Do you remember the deal we made?" Youji repeated, still solemn as a death sentence. "Before you came to live with us? The conditions?"  
  
"D-Deal?" Her brain was having trouble catching up to this, once her first and foremost fear--crazy that she'd thought something had happened to Ran, *could* happen to Ran, while on vacation--was allayed.  
  
"Yeah, the deal. When you decided to stay with us instead of at the school dorm?"  
  
The terms of that deal came flooding back into her mind, and her calming heart skipped a beat and lurched in tentative preparation for another fit of terror. Youji had been serious then, too, and Ran conspicuously absent, Ken and Omi nodding automatons as they'd been on the day they'd told her they were going on vacation. *Every* time they told her they were going on vacation.  
  
//If anything seems weird, and you're curious about it, *don't* ask. Actually, just don't ask, no matter what, unless it involves sunlight watering, and seed packets. *Don't* tell *anyone* about *anything* that doesn't happen in the shop. And even then, if it's interesting, // pause to puff on a cigarette, as if for strength, //keep it to yourself. And if you see two lovely ladies, of following description// followed by a description of a redhead who *did* admittedly sound lovely, and another, darker haired lady, sounding just as pretty. //*Don't* talk to them. // Long drag, //Unless they talk first. Oh. And *no* snooping. If anything, ever, by accident, or otherwise, looks like it might be interesting, or worth chatting about, *don't*. // Another drag, a sip of beer, and Youji was his cheerful self again, bounding upstairs to get ready for a date as soon as she'd agreed. At that point, any price was worth being allowed to stay with her only family.  
  
She'd been suspicious then, but she'd stuck to the conditions. And that suspicion had faded when nothing odd or 'interesting' had presented itself. Well, nothing save the occasional visit by the two women, whom Youji's described mainly as "Legs up to here", marking a point halfway up his own chest. And, okay, so she'd talked to them, even initiated conversation with them, but only to the say hello, welcome, or good evening/afternoon, and what did Youji expect when they came in through the shop? It would have been rude not to greet them. People who entered through the shop were customers, to be treated with courtesy. She knew *that* much about shop keeping, even then. She'd decided that maybe the demand for silence had had to do with Youji's 'dating' or, more realistically, womanizing. That would explain Ran's absence. He *wouldn't* want to be a party to telling *her* about such things.  
  
"I think…" Youji again, the present Youji, "I think we're gonna have to finally collect on that promise."  
  
*That* made her gut do something strange that reminded her of nothing so much as the feeling you got on a roller coaster, just before the plunge. Just as the cart crested the hill of steel track and you got a glimpse of the drop that promised to twist you about and make you regret that hotdog and extra ice cream. "Does…Does this have something to so with your vacation?"  
  
Silence from Youji, it sounded like confused silence, and then laughter, a sound that was so distinctly unhappy that Aya didn't know if should even *call* it laughter. For lack of a better word, she did though. "Not a `vacation', Aya. A business trip."  
  
"Oh." Had it been business all the other times, too, then? She wanted to ask, but she'd promised she wouldn't and as her father had said—admonishing a harmless, childhood lie—a promise is a promise.  
  
Brief silence. Aya waiting for Youji to elaborate, Youji maybe waiting for her to ask anyway, promise or not. Well, she couldn't, and he'd been the one to extract the promise from her, so *he'd* better be the one to start talking!  
  
The silence couldn't have been long, but it dragged on, the tick of the kitchen clock loud as a heartbeat. Tick tock. Tick tock. It grated on her nerves. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, then,  
  
"Your brother's been hurt, Aya."  
  
A gamut of emotions ran through her at that. Anger, that he'd been hiding something from her after all, which, as much as her instincts told her was true, her mind just hadn't wanted to believe. Confusion, an odd mix of 'why?' and 'what happened?' coupled with a rush of denial. Worry. Would be okay? Was it bad? But the strongest of them was a selfish, self-centered wave of pure fear, of, 'what will *I* do now?' of `will *I* be alone, followed by guilt that she should think of that at a time like this.  
  
"Ran-nii…*Aya*?" After days of calling him Ran in her thoughts the name 'Aya' rolled awkwardly off her tongue. It hit her again how odd it was that he went by that name. She wondered if she would ever find out *why*. Oh, she had her suspicions, knowing well her brother's thought patterns, but why in the world would he use it *still*, when she was so obviously alive and well. Another odd thought. Maybe fate had been setting them up for this switch. Maybe something *really* bad had happened. Would *she* have to be Ran now? Ludicrous. Her rational informed her, calmly. Her heart raced in response.  
  
"Yeah." Youji said, "Aya." She wasn't sure which Aya he meant.  
  
She wanted to ask about that, but it died in her throat. She wanted to ask 'how?' wanted to ask, 'what happened?' but Youji had only just reminded her of her promise, of that pact made downstairs in that dark and somehow creepy basement. And she *had* given her word willingly, if with little hesitation and not even too much thought, so she didn't voice those questions. She wanted to ask 'why?' but wasn't sure whether or not *that* was an acceptable question, either. Besides, that was a question she'd often asked herself and she knew there were no answers to it. She had never gotten past the word `because' when seeking an answer to that one. The word, the question that finally slipped out of her throat was unbidden and sounded too calm, too rational even in her own ears. "Badly?" she asked.  
  
Youji made a soft surprised sound in his throat, as if he'd expected her to break her promise, as if he'd expected to have to remind her *again*, considering the circumstances. Aya felt a bit offended at that. Offended enough for cold rational to shove panic down a bit and remind her that she shouldn't be so afraid. There was no reason to be. Ran *couldn't* be too badly hurt or Youji wouldn't be so calm.  
  
Flash of Ran's calm, //…our parents…died? // She pushed the fear down, //…I'm sorry, Aya. //  
  
"*Badly*?" She repeated letting the indignation creep into and raise her voice. To remind Youji that when *her* word was given, it was a promise written in stone. To give herself strength by letting some of the emotion off, even if it came out in the form of steam. Again, Youji hesitated. She wished he would just spit it out so that reality could chase away this irrational, unfounded fear.  
  
"…Yeah." Youji admitted in a sigh. "Pretty bad." He sounded different now, his calm breaking into worry. And if Youji calm and cold had scared her, Youji worried was worse. Her heart jumped in renewed apprehension. //At least it's getting a good workout. // She thought absently, and with little humor.  
  
She wanted to know more. The already dismissed 'how?' and 'what happened?' and 'why?' jumped back into her head. She paused, wracking her brain for something to say that would be all right to voice and that Youji could, or would, answer. "And the rest of you? Are *you* okay?"  
  
"Huh?" Surprise again? //Answer, Youji. Just answer. // "Well…" At least *that* was in a familiar Youji tone. That was a Youji I-am-trying-as- hell-to-weasel-out-of-this-please-let-me-off-the-hook tone of voice. She'd heard him use it with Ran, heard him use it  
  
with Ken, and Omi, and the numerous angry young women who either showed up on their doorstep or phoned for him. It gave her back some emotional footing, kicked her brain back into gear. She could stop babbling and actually *think* again,  
  
"Ken? Omi?"  
  
"Ken's fine." Youji said, in that same dishonest tone of voice. The one that told you the truth and nothing but the truth, but only half of it. The one that said, 'I didn't cheat on you with Mizuho!" but left out, 'her name was Hana.' Now she *knew* something else was wrong.  
  
"And you?"  
  
Youji actually laughed, still as miserable sounding as it had earlier. She wished he'd drop that particular nervous habit. It was giving her the creeps. "Same as Ken." His voice hadn't changed yet, and when Aya's eyes narrowed in suspicion, it sounded in her voice.  
  
"Omi's hurt too, isn't he?"  
  
An "Um…" followed by the unintelligible mumble of the guilty and caught red-handed.  
  
"Sorry, Youji-niichan?"  
  
"I said, yeah, he is."  
  
"Are…" Aya hesitated, her inner most fear rising again. She needed to know this, needed to ask this, and at the same time feared to, feared the answer. //Aya, do you remember? …our parents…died? …I'm sorry, Aya. // The reversed image of her at Ran's bedside, her brother unmoving. Her earlier thought, //Would *she* have to be Ran now? // Omi's words from weeks earlier, from a night spent sitting on the stairs drinking soda and eating potato chips and talking, //…had no more family…. I was afraid to be alone…always so lonely…//  
  
The question screamed through her mind again, demanding to be asked, and asked *now*, before she grew to scared to ask it. "Are they gonna be okay?" It came out in a rush.  
  
//…I'm sorry, Aya. //  
  
She was sorry for calling him stupid earlier, she was sorry for telling him he looked like a girl, she was sorry for being mad at being left behind, she was sorry for sulking when they left. She was sorry she'd been so childish about it. She was sorry…sorry she hadn't  
  
said goodbye.  
  
"Are they gonna be okay, Youji?" She suddenly didn't want to call him 'niichan' anymore. Didn't want to call anyone 'niichan' but Ran. Was too distraught to call him 'kun' as Omi did. She felt a strange surge of protectiveness for her brother. She hadn't really believed he was destructible. But then, she hadn't believed her parents were, either.  
  
Youji sighed in what sounded suspiciously like relief. Was he *happy* she was breaking down? The thought was almost angrily. She couldn't keep the tears from her eyes anymore. She couldn't bring any other thoughts into her head, but that one, stubborn question. //Please tell me they're gonna be okay. // She didn't want to say that though, because voicing that plea might prompt Youji to lie to her, and she would never be able to believe the reply he gave. Better to have the truth.  
  
"I'll call you back, Aya."  
  
"Youji! Will they be okay?" She wanted to scream it at him, but it came in an almost-whisper.  
  
"Everything's going to be fine, Aya."  
  
A memory, from somewhere, of Ran's voice saying just that. She didn't know when or where that memory came from, just that she'd believed him, so why not believe Youji? //Everything's going to be fine, Aya. // But…. But, please, God, please. She was *so* afraid for him. For them.  
  
"It'll be okay, Aya. Stay right there, Me or Ken will call you back when we know something, okay? No sense in all of us wearing ruts into the floor." Ken snapped something in a tense, but typically wise-asset tone of voice that made Aya giggle despite herself. When Youji spoke again, he, too, sounded a little more relaxed. "It'll be okay, Aya." He repeated, then, after a deep breath, maybe a drag, "I promise."  
  
Not *he* will be okay, though, or *they* will be okay, or even *Omi* will be okay. And she knew what he meant by it. If Ran *wasn't* fine, if he *didn't* come out of this, Youji was willing to be an elder brother for her too, just as Omi had confided he was to the rest of them, even Ran, while she'd been `sleeping'. She sniffled her tears back, wiping her eyes on the back of one hand, smiling a little despite the dire portent of those words.  
  
"Thank you, Youji-niichan."  
  
She held the phone close to her ear, even as Youji started to hang up, just in case there was something more he wanted to tell her, in case something happened in the couple of seconds that the phone was between his ear and the hook. She heard nothing except a muted argument, Ken saying something that was immediately drowned out by Youji's retort. A pause, long enough for a hand gesture or a meaningful glance, a glare. Youji's annoyed voice.  
  
"Geez, when did *you* turn into Aya?"  
  
Ken, forcing a laugh, maybe "Just covering for him until he—"  
  
Then nothing but a dial tone.  
  
//I'm sorry, Aya. //  
  
She hung up and let herself cry. Looking up as she reached for a paper towel, she caught a glimpse of Momoe-san through the door to the shop. The door she'd left open minutes earlier in her cheerful dash to receive that phone call. She wished she'd never picked it up. She wished Youji'd been out of change. She wished….  
  
Even with her loud sobs, the old lady hadn't moved. She just looked up and kept petting that oblivious, contented tortoise shell cat. Just looked up and made eye contact. And the look in her eyes told Aya that she'd seen and heard this before, too many times before. Her eyes said she'd lived through a war. Her eyes understood. *She* understood, and that was why she didn't move, that was why she stayed where she was. That was why she let Aya cry instead of shushing or comforting her.  
  
//…I'm sorry, Aya. //  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC...  
  
  
  
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Thank you heaps to those of you who gave C&C, I really  
  
appreciate it!!! Hope you like this part, too.  
  
Just for info & 'cause I like to blab: the bit about Momoe-san 'understanding' at the end refers to WW2. I think she looks about old enough to remember it, ne?  
  
Actually, just ignore me...  
  
Oh, an I hope you people reading this on ffnet realise that I have this published up to chapter 4 on my ML. I'm just stringing you along for reviews. Evil, huh? I wrote this ages ago. Mwahahahahha  
  
--bart 


	3. skinned knees

Since you all asked so nicely I decided to post this sooner than planned. *grin* There is, of course, another chapter sitting complete on my 'puter, and one more than just needs some corrections, but this is all you get for now. Mwahahahahahhaha . . . 

I had trouble with this part. I *was* making it Omi's POV, but after scrapping the whole thing twice, it's now Youji's POV. Somehow, I just can't get into Omitchi's kawaii little head. But…C&C anyway, onegaiiiiii??? *makes wobbly puppy eyes--Omi style!!*

Title: Steel runs in the blood [3/??] 

Author: Dragonflyred7 

Pairings: YoujixAya(Ran)-ness (Any objections? *glares at the rankens*) It's slight, but there. (Finally.)

Teaser: When the Abyssinian is badly injured during a mission it's up to the other Aya to keep the team together. (No, not as an assassin!!)

Rating and warnings: PG-13(?) For violence, angst, slight shounen ai (you can probably read it as close freindship if you want), and language.

Spoilers: Many, from all over the place (anime series, assassin and white shaman, etc), and not necessarily overly correct. List goes on indefinitely, but I improvise/change anything I don't know or doesn't fit the plot. (assuming I have one ^^;)

Status: In progress. But if you all hate it, I can drag it out back and shoot it in the head for you. It's a first fic. Be gentle. Also, I have a really bad track record for finishing things I start.

Archive: E-mail me first and tell me where. 

Thanks to: some person called Yen, who wrote the fic, 'Aya's Scheme'. Something Youji says in that inspired the title of this one. It all grew from there. And a HUGE thanks to Amari, who beta-ed this section and pointed out the many instances when I used made-up words (I swear I thought they *were* words!) and used real words as other words. *winces* I can't see how people could take the time out from their busy lives to beta for fic writers, but I'm glad they do. *hugs* 

Disclaimer: I'm using Weiss and it's characters without permission. This story is written for fun only and I'm not making any money off of it. All characters and most of everything else belong to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss, and not, unfortunately, to me. *kidnaps Aya, hides him under bed with the dust bunnies*

I write emphasis like *this* and thoughts (including memories) like / /this / /. 

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steel runs in the blood

by dragonflyred7

scene 2: skinned knees 

Daytime. The warm summer air already starting to cool a little. He hadn't even noticed the hours slipping away, just as, much earlier, he hadn't much noticed when the darkness slid away. How long had he really been out here, the wrought iron railing of the hospital balcony beneath his elbows, tobacco smoke curling away to fade into nothingness. How many cigarettes had he smoked by now, he wondered. Or, more accurately, how many had he let burn down to their filter, forgotten between strong fingers? He couldn't really remember. Idly, he shook the rumpled cardboard pack. At least there were still a few in there.

He took a deep drag from the one currently in his hand and leaned back, hanging to the railing with one hand and tilting his face up to the sky. It was a small balcony, and probably rarely used for anything, if at all. One of those pointless, unnecessary structures that always seemed like a good idea in the architect's mind and looked nice on paper, but really did nothing more than add a couple of generous sums to the building cost. Or maybe it had been intended for the use Youji was now putting it to. Escape.

Escape without looking like he was trying to escape anything. Of course, Omi, groggy as he still was, and maybe even Ken, would be well onto him by now. His cigarette breaks had never lasted whole half-days before. And they certainly hadn't entailed this much staring into space and burning fingers on forgotten ciggs. Well, not since Asuka's…. no. Not since *Neu's* death. Trying to look casual, he tilted his head back a bit more, giving himself an upside-down view of the room through glass sliding doors.

Ken was in there, talking to Omi, presumably explaining everything that had occurred after the mission, but looking suspiciously like he was talking about something more entertaining and far more cheerful. Youji straightened and half-turned, frowning a little. Leave it to Ken to forget what he was meant to be doing, he thought, slightly annoyed at the brunette.

Still, yelling at Ken about it would mean going back inside and that wasn't really something Youji wanted to do just yet. For one thing, there was that rule about smoking *inside*, and he'd already been caught once or twice--okay, three or four times--lighting up at Omi's bedside earlier today. And, while he'd had his fill of nicotine and tar *hours* ago, he found the sterile whiteness of the hospital room distasteful, the strong, cloying smells of medicine and antiseptic floorwash nearly overpowering. Even out here he could smell the chemical fragrance, a very slight background scent, drifting out from the half-open door. It was enough to keep him at bay a while longer.

And then of course, there was that *other* problem, Youji thought, taking another long drag. That problem of Aya not having regained consciousness yet. It had been uncomfortable enough sitting there all morning with *both* of them lifeless, but Ken had refused to move an inch from his seat, insisted on standing vigil over his teammates for however long it might take for them to wake. The brunette had been shaken by the close call, visibly and obviously so, and despite his own discomfort, Youji had been loath to desert him.

But as soon as Omi had awakened, Youji found he couldn't really bear to stay inside any longer. He'd tried though, and found his mind wandering avenues that, quite frankly, he'd rather it would stay off of. Questions kept popping into his mind, such as *who's fault is this, really?* and *what the hell happened to Aya?* And, then there was that other, more insistently nagging thought that, no matter how hard he tried to dislodge it, remained in the back of his mind, leaping to the fore whenever he'd let his eyes stray away from Omi and Ken and to the other bed.

/ /Why is Aya taking so long to wake up?/ /

After all, Omi had been up for hours now, had even regained a little color in his cheeks and enough of a presence of mind to worry for Ken and Youji's welfare. A worry that probably wasn't helped by the older blonde's loitering out on the verandah, by his chain smoking. Well, Youji thought, he was probably just as worried for Omi as Omi was for him.

And how could he stand to be in there, anyway, when Aya was still lying like one dead? Pale and bruised and a little gray around the edges, with that godawful blue tinge to his lips that really did make him look like a corpse? When there was *still* no guarantee he'd be okay? When it might very easily be *Youji's* fault that this had happened to him?

Because while Aya *had* messed up, had put them, and Omi, and himself in danger, and *had* almost completely bungled the mission, he and Ken weren't exactly blameless, either. *They* hadn't been paying all too much attention when they'd been rigging the bombs, *they* had been comfortable and confident in the routine of it all. Comfortable and confident enough to joke and banter and smoke. Comfortable and confidant enough that the first detonation had come four seconds early. Four *whole* goddamned seconds early. And in their line of work, four seconds was a hell of a long time. Maybe if those few, precious seconds hadn't been lost, Aya would be awake now. Maybe Omi wouldn't be so black and blue. Maybe a lot more of the shit that flew through the air in the wake of those explosions would have missed them. Youji was sure that they'd both taken quite a clobbering from airborne concrete and rubble and *stuff*.

And sure, he could place equal blame for that on Ken, just as Ken was placing almost full responsibility for the whole catastrophe on Aya's battered shoulders. But he *couldn't* blame Ken for this. *He* should have been paying more attention to what they were doing because the truth was… Well, the truth was that, delinquent though he was--or liked to think of himself as--he was *still* the eldest. And they were *all* still his responsibility. Even Aya who had pretty much snatched the role of leadership out from under his nose almost as soon as he'd waltzed into the Koneko no Sumu Ie, what was it? Two years ago? Three? More? Less? It felt like ages, and yet, like yesterday. 

Youji didn't mind. He had kind of liked being the voice of authority, had kind of liked being the one they turned to when decisions needed making, but had also been painfully aware the entire time, that this was not a part he played particularly well. He didn't have Aya's quiet confidence, his sharp, deadly instinct. Leadership was a burden he was, in the end, glad to be relieved of. One that, eventually, he'd been sick of carrying.

But it was a burden he'd quickly and efficiently re-claimed as soon as that last bomb had gone off. As soon as they were sure that that was it, and there were no more explosions coming. He'd surprised himself at that, at the sudden calm that flowed through him at knowing what had to be done. Had he followed the rules, Aya and Omi would be dead by now, he knew. Had he followed the rules, he'd have left with Ken when they hadn't shown by the first explosion. You just *didn't* go and muck around a site looking for teammates who were most likely dead anyway. Not when cops and all manner of security would be swarming the place at any minute.

But, in Youji's personal book of do's and don'ts, abandoning people you cared about was unthinkable. And it wasn't like Ken would have willingly left without doing at least a cursory search first.

So they'd left he car running, ready for an escape, not really thinking that someone might stumble onto it and maybe filch it--after all it wasn't every day you found a Porsche hanging about with doors open, engine running and keys in the ignition--and gone to look for whatever might be left of their teammates.

Youji hadn't expected to find anything--not even bodies--definitely hadn't expected to find them *both* alive. *Alive* alive, too, not alive and fading fast, or alive with no hope of recovery. He hadn't expected to find them in one piece. He had to admit, though, he hadn't been particularly *surprised* either, when he and Ken had found them, bleeding, battered, and very much the worse for wear. Realized that some small, optimistic part of him that probably spent *way* too much time around Omi had fully believed they'd be okay. It was just another bit of Aya's magic. The same magic he'd used to rescue the three of them from certain death, from being shot down by that dammed chopper, back before Takatori's death.

But God, even *with* Aya's magic, what a *mess*! Omi had still been conscious, sort of, enough to recognize them at any rate. Enough to mouth something that *looked* like it might have been "are you okay?" Which--If that was indeed what he'd said--was a pretty selfless question for someone who'd just nearly been blown to bits the size of your average cornflake. It was also so typically Omi, that it had shattered Youji's brief, fragile bubble of calm.

Pushing down the urge to panic, he'd managed to get Omi wrapped in one of the two blankets they'd somehow managed to remember to bring with them from the car and Aya in the other. Managed to get them to the car and into the back seat without further injury. They both looked horrible. Omi bleeding from at least two gunshot wounds and several gashes, bare arms and legs raked with scratches and colored by bruises. Aya looked to be in worse condition, even with his trench covering most of the damage. The leather of that garment was ripped, torn, punctured, evidence of the damage done to the flesh beneath. Oh well, he'd thought, at least the blankets would keep the blood off the seats.

Youji took another deep drag, draped both long arms over the railing and, leaning forward heavily, tried to banish that image. Tried to forget that he'd been, even for a second, worried about the interior of Aya's *car*, when Aya himself was bleeding like a sieve. And then there'd been the mad drive to the hospital which had done much in the way of reminding Youji why they didn't let Ken drive, and why they didn't, if it was at all avoidable, ride pillion on his motorbike.

It had been hard to call Aya-chan, harder to come to the decision to do it. It had taken a long, loud argument with Ken for them to settle the matter. They both knew it had been the right thing to do, especially then, with Aya and Omi both in surgery, having bullets, shrapnel and what not removed from their flesh. It had been the right thing to do for those few precarious hours when Aya's life had been in the balance, when it had seemed he would *not* make it. It had been right because she, at least, should have had the privilege of saying goodbye. 

And now that it looked like Aya was going to be okay… Well, *now* it was only a betrayal. Not that it hadn't been before, but… at least then he'd had a reason. At least *then* it had been, at least to himself, justifiable. At least *then* he had been able to tell himself that Aya would be none the wiser.

Cigarette dangling from between his teeth, Youji frowned. He'd wanted to tell Aya-chan exactly which hospital they were at, wanted to tell her he would come pick her up, so she could be at her brother's side instead of back at the flower shop, having to smile at customers or hide in the store room or upstairs, the whole while not knowing what was really going on, what had really happened. If Aya would even be all right. But that just hadn't been possible, not until he was *sure* that it was all over. He'd wanted to let her come over straight away as soon as Aya had been wheeled into the room, pale and tired looking and neatly bandaged. But between then and now, he still hadn't made a move to make that second phone call.

And he wouldn't. Not until Aya woke up. He'd been entertaining a morbid vision of the siblings in reversed roles. He didn't want to see that vision made reality. Didn't want to see in Aya-chan's eyes the look that had for so long filled her brother's. Despair. Grief. Barely sustained hope. Day after day, month after month. And true, they'd been given reassurance that Aya would wake just as soon as his body could handle it, as soon as exhaustion and whatever drugs they'd put him under wore off. He didn't want to jinx it, though. Didn't want to let Aya-chan come over just yet for some vague, irrational fear that it might make his vision true.

Shaking his head at himself and his childish thoughts, Youji leaned over the railing to spit the butt of the cigarette out, and watched it fall four or five stories to the walk below. Of course, he'd have to talk to Aya before he made that phone call. He'd have to tell him what they'd told Aya-chan, even if it meant certain death so soon as the redhead got his hands wrapped around his katana hilt. Otherwise who knew what he'd do when she arrived? It was already becoming painfully obvious that Aya's hold on reality, on himself, on his demons, whatever, was far more tentative than Youji had ever guessed. 

And that was a weird thought. That the Aya whom they turned to to get them the hell out of skin-of-the-teeth situations--the Aya whom they would all follow into hell--*had*, in fact, followed into hell--trusting him to get them out in more or less one piece--that this same Aya could be so fragile… It was a disturbing thought. It made Youji fear that maybe there would be more missions like this in the future. And he really didn't want to be scraping his teammates off the pavement any more than was absolutely necessary. 

Youji turned around again, peered through the door. Reaching for yet another cigarette before reminding himself that he didn't really need or even want it all that much. It was just something for restless hands to do, something with which to keep busy so his thoughts wouldn't keep wandering back to last night, trying to figure out what they might have done differently to avoid this disaster.

He sighed softly. Ken was still talking with Omi; leaning forward now with his chin nestled in folded arms, resting on the edge of Omi's bed. What had been animated talking and laughing had become quiet and serious discussion, Ken's chocolate eyes dark and still a little angry. Omi's head was turned away from Youji and cocked to one side as the kid listened intently to what Ken was saying. In the foreground, closer to the sliding doors, Aya still lay unmoving. Youji sighed again, a worried sound. Okay. He wanted that cigarette after all. 

It took a moment to locate his lighter, a moment longer to wrestle it out of the pocket of his tight jeans. After that, Youji was all grace again, flicking the thing on, holding the blue tongue of flame to the end of his cigarette, leaning against the rail, his green eyes going to watch the nurses who wandered about below. No joy in that today. He was just too tired and too worried and they were just too damned far away to see properly. Still, he did it out of habit, blowing a kiss at the one or two pretty-seeming ones who happened to glance up. 

Eyelids slid down over green eyes as he yawned, everything finally catching up with him. He wanted to go home and to bed, but that would mean, one, leaving Omi and Aya, and most likely Ken, who still looked determined not to budge, and, two, running into Aya-chan, who would surely ask questions. He was starting to fall asleep just standing there, listening to the hum of traffic and being 'non-chalant'. 

He was doing a good job at that 'non-chalant' bit. 'non-chalance' had been his armor for a long, long time. Indifference and shallow self-indulgence his mask, just as cold indifference was Aya's. As innocent cheer was Omi's. Youji just half-lidded his eyes and gazed at the world over his shades with his long-perfected devil-may-care attitude that told the world it was by no means of any importance to Youji. 

"You WHAT Ken-kun?"

Youji almost swallowed his cigarette. He raised an elegant eyebrow at the door in an indignant, questioning expression. They weren't paying attention to him. Not enough to see the look he threw them, anyway. Ken was too busy chattering at Omi, his hands spread in a placating gesture. / /God, Ken, have a little spine./ / He stepped away from the railing to listen in. 

Good old Ken. Good old *loyal* Kenken. Muttering something about something having been Youji's idea as much as his, and Youji being responsible, too, and it not being Ken's fault. And besides, *Youji* had made the phone call, so don't shoot the messenger. 

Oh. So *that's* what it was about. Well, he hadn't expected Omi to like what they had done. 

Youji gave up on his half-wanted, half-smoked cigarette and tossed it over the edge of the verandah to follow the other. A fleeting thought, / /Hope it doesn't hit anyone/ / and he leaned over the edge to watch it fall and make sure it didn't. When it had safely hit the ground, he turned and went inside. 

Ken was still sitting on the chair by Omi's bed, talking softly and animatedly, trying to appease an angry and plastered looking Omi. Actually, the look on Omi's face reminded Youji of the few times he had actually managed to coerce the youngest Weiss into those drinking games that he really *did* have to know in order to be *cool*, really Omitchi.

/ /Yeah, Youji-kun, falling over your own feet is *really* cool./ /

/ /I don't fall over my feet./ /

/ /And there's *nothing* as cool as puking all over the carpet./ /

/ /I don't…okay, maybe once. But I'm *still* cool./ /

/ /Sure, Youji-kun./ /

/ /Just have a drink and shut up, Omitchi./ /

Omi was looking like the morning after one of Youji's clubbing nights--a little green and woozy, blue eyes just a touch too bright--but without the fun-filled evening to make up for it. Youji grinned at him, a little apologetically. After all, he'd spent most of the time since Omi'd woken outside. 

"Looking good, Omi." Youji said, leaning for a second in the doorway, letting a smirk slowly take over his face, "Just like a mummy movie reject." He joked. Omi looked at him, *not amused* written clearly in his eyes. Whoah. Omi was really mad about this Aya-chan thing. 

"He does, too." Ken laughed softly, as if just now realizing it. Omi turned away from Youji, probably to turn that disapproving glare on Ken. 

"Gee, thanks Ken-kun." 

There was no chair save the one currently under Ken's butt, and *he* didn't look like he was going to be inclined to offer Youji his seat any time soon. Youji looked around for another place to sit, and finding none, turned and unlatched the railing to Aya's bed, lowering it and seating himself on the edge of the matress, careful not to jar Aya or the IV line running into his arm. Omi glared as he got comfortable, hooking his heels into the lowered railing and leaning back on straightened arms. It looked…really cute and almost hilarious with Omi's badly singed hair sticking up in all sorts of funny angles, but Youji wasn't dumb enough to give in to the chortle that threatened to escape his throat. 

He turned his gaze away to hide the grin on his face and the laugh in his eyes. Turned to look at Aya, so Omi wouldn't see him silently snigger. Not that anything was really all *that* funny. It was just a combination of relief and exhaustion and the look on Omi's face. There was even less reason to laugh when his eyes focused on the redhead's face. 

He looked fragile. Pale. Like a porcelain doll just waiting to be broken. Like he *would* break if jarred in the slightest. His eyes were sunken and shadowed, ringed by half-circles the color of deep bruising. Actually, it might have *been* bruising. No reason for him *not* to have a couple of black eyes on top on everything else, right? And Aya had always been pale, far paler than most people Youji had ever seen, but *now* he looked like he was whiter even than the impressively bleached sheets. He disappeared in them, dwarfed by the bulk of the hospital bed and drowned by the blankets. And yeah, Youji had seen him hurt before, and hurt pretty badly, but he hadn't ever seen him look so *small* before. So *vulnerable*. 

"Omi…" Youji turned back to the younger, moving his eyes, but nothing else. 

"You *told* her!" Omi accused, glaring in fair imitation of Aya. There was nothing to do in the face of that charge but look guilty. Even Ken looked away, and *he* had obviously been through this wringer already.

"Yeah." Youji agreed hesitantly, "Um…well…" he searched for words, for an excuse, finally decided to buy time with "Look, Omi, I can explain." Omi looked doubtful. Omi looked like Aya might look when he learned of this betrayal. He didn't say anything, though, just blinked expectantly. 

"Look," Youji repeated, then "how were we gonna explain a three day vacation suddenly becoming a," pause for thought, "a really *long* vacation? Who knows how long it'll take you guys to get better? And we sure as hell wouldn't be able to bring you home half-better, because then we'd have to explain what happened *anyway*. *And* we'd have to explain why we didn't call her about it, or come home right away when you were hurt."

"Yeah, but Aya-kun…" Omi saw their point. At least enough of it to drop the glare and go back to looking worried.

"And don't tell me it won't be a relief to not have to sneak into your own apartment like you were planning to rob yourself at four AM. I, for one, am tired of having to go to bed without a shower because who knows what sudden spark of enlightenment that might trigger in that girl's clever little head." 

Omi looked like he might be won over, but just as Youji was going to continue listing the benefits of Aya-chan *knowing*, a cloud of suspicion drifted across his face, bringing a pouty frown of thought with it. "How much *did* you tell her, Youji-kun? You.. you didn't tell her *everything* did you?"

"Huh? Oh. No. No, of course not! Only that you two were hurt on a, uh, business trip." 

"Did she suspect?" 

"Well, gee Omi, you've said yourself that she suspected."

"I said suspected *something*. She thinks Aya-kun's selling drugs or something illegal like *that*." 'That' meaning 'not killing people'. Youji understood, but decided to be difficult anyway.

"Oh. So she's okay with drug dealing? Well, in *that* case…"

"Youji-kun!" Omi snapped in irritation, then winced—sending a stab of guilt through Youji for riling him. Then, in a calmer, pained tone of voice, "That's not funny, Youji-kun." Well, hell, of course it wasn't. What *was* funny about their life, anyway? / /Maybe a lot, actually, if you're on the outside, looking in./ /Youji could see some sick bastard just laughing his ass off at them. Hell, maybe one day *he* would look back and laugh, provided he survived that long. 

"I wasn't trying to *be* funny, Omi. It's just she's a clever girl and she's gonna figure it out sooner or later anyway."

"And so you just had to give her hints, huh?" Omi challenged, pouting even more. Man, the kid really didn't know how to look intimidating. Or maybe it was just the painkillers, making him look wobbly and sleepy.

"Omi, she'd be more pissed off if she found out just *how much* we've been lying to her." Youji raised his chin in defiance, "We did it for the peace of the household." 

"Hey, I just *live* there." Ken grumbled in self-defense. 

"But--" Omi protested, only to be interrupted. 

"We *had* to tell her, Omi." 

Ken nodded in agreement.

"No you didn't." Omi argued stubbornly. 

"'Course we did."

"Would *Youji* have done it if he didn't *have* to?" Ken added. Youji glared at him for it. For the emphasis on his name.

"What's this '*Youji* did it' bit, *comrade*?" he asked sarcastically, "As I recall, *you* were all for calling her. *I* was the one who objected."

"Why did you *have* to tell her, Youji-kun?" Omi sounded curious now, still annoyed but not pissed off anymore. Youji sighed.

"Because we thought Aya might die."

Omi's eyes widened.

"He was in pretty bad shape. We thought Aya-chan should know so she would be ready to haul her pretty posterior over here if, well… You know." *If Aya died* "So she could…" * Say goodbye* Youji couldn't finish his sentences, though. He had a thing about good-byes. Especially unsaid ones. He had a few he had yet to say himself. No. He had *one* he had yet to say. He rubbed unconsciously at one long, slender arm. "It was pretty close there for a while, Omitchi."

"Oh. I-I didn't know." Omi replied, eyes still large and shocked. He looked apologetic as he added, "It should still have been Aya-kun's decision, though." Youji snorted.

"Does he look like he's in any condition to be making decisions, Omitchi?" He asked quietly. Omi bit his lip and refocused his blue eyes to solemnly regard Aya. "Yeah. That's what I thought." Youji commented, suddenly wanting another smoke.

~#~

It was dark. A familiar, comfortable darkness. He had been here before. He had been *safe* here. Even now, he felt a lingering sense of security as he searched through the gloom with wide eyes, staring at the half-shrouded forms of mundane objects. 

Slowly, slowly, things came into focus, began to make some sense as his eyes adjusted to the half-dark. Everything was bigger than he remembered. The windows looming large and almost out of his reach, the bed he sat in large enough for two or three of him to sleep in comfortably. He gripped the blankets in tight-fists, ducking his head to avoid seeing the room, and stared at his hands.

Curiously, releasing the blankets, he turned them palm-upwards, staring at them. Slowly fisted and opened them, before frowning in thought. His hands were…tiny. Tiny and soft and a little chubby. In fact, he realized looking down at himself, *all* of him was tiny, and oddly misproportioned.

He was calling for someone, feeling small and inexplicably scared. He was calling for…his parents? For a second or two it remained ridiculous, and then he was screaming his lungs out, no longer a spectator in his own body. What was it, why was he so… afraid? 

Flashes of nightmare came back, freeze-frames of moments, faces, echoes of voices, of sounds. Half-shadowed glimpses of images whose origins he could not place. He called again, louder. Someone was supposed to come now, right? Wasn't someone supposed to come in and turn on the light and get him a glass of water, or tell him it was just a dream, and everything would be okay? So where were they? His mother? His father? He called again, his face scrunching up with the effort, chubby fists clutching at the edge of the thick quilt.

No one. Why didn't anyone come? 

"'Kasan!!! 'Kasan!!!!!" 

Why didn't anyone come?

He stopped yelling, tilted his head to one side, listening for the familiar sound of footsteps in the hallway. Listening for the sound of his doorknob being turned from outside. For that familiar voice to call, "Ran? What's wrong?" But it never came. No footsteps, no voice. Only silence.

"Okasan!!!" Where was she? Why didn't she come?

Another image, brief and vivid as the flash of a camera. No. He couldn't believe that image. It was impossible!!! It was…stupid. Impossible and stupid, and *he* was stupid to believe it, even for that second.

Chewing anxiously on his lower lip, he slid out of bed, almost landing on his rear when he stumbled at the unexpected drop. For a moment he stood bereft of purpose, wanting to go and find out why his calls went unheeded, but afraid to leave his room. Afraid, in fact, to go even a single step further from the security of the bed, of the blankets. He was torn between exploration and hiding. A long, indecisive look at the door, at the bed, and then he pulled the blankets down and around himself for shelter, for protection.

The doorknob was high. Not so high that he had to go to tip-toes to reach it, but high enough that he had to raise his hand above his head. Strange. He had a feeling that somehow he shouldn't have had to do that. That a lot *less* of the blankets should be pooling around his feet. That somehow his feet should have been a *lot* further away. Shrugging the feeling off, he pulled the blankets tighter about his throat and pushed the door open, sticking a tousled head out into the hall to make sure it was 'safe' before following with the rest of his body. 

The hallway was as dark as his room. Darker, lacking the benefit of large windows to let in moonlight. He didn't remember it ever being this dark. Always before there had been the night just outside each door, so they would be able to find their way back at night without tripping over something and waking everyone up. Always before there's been the bathroom light at the end of the hall, left on for him and Aya. 

Something in his mind whispered that it hadn't been that way for a long, long time. That those lights had been habitually left off for years now, that the nightlights had become obsolete in the face of advancing years. It was a distant thought, though, and hazy. Uncertain. He dismissed it. After all, the nightlights were *there*, just off, and too high for him to reach unless he found something to climb. 

Putting one small hand to the wall for guidance, he shivered. He hadn't realized until now how *cold* it was. Frowning at that, he wondered if maybe no one else was even in bed yet. Maybe they were all still downstairs, watching television or reading the paper. That would explain why no one had heard him. It would explain why the lights weren't on yet. No one was up here to turn them on. All he had to do was go find his family. He pulled his blanket closer—a shield against the fear of whatever might lurk in the darkness around him—and took a small, tentative step. 

/ /All I have to do is find them./ / 

~#~

Youji blinked behind his shades, frowning. He almost voiced the question that jumped into his mind, but, considering Omi's condition and Ken's state of emotional exhaustion, he decided against it. The brunette had been pretty quiet for the last hour or so, something that was out of character for Ken, even a very tired, injured Ken. And with Omi already worried about everyone but himself, despite his own injuries and obvious exhaustion, well, no reason to get false hopes up, right? Still… / /Did I just see Aya move?/ /

If he had, it hadn't been much. A slight flicker of an eyelid, maybe the corner of his lips twitching in a slight frown. Something like that, something very minute out of the corner of his eye. For once, Youji cursed his perpetually present sunnies. Maybe if the damned frames hadn't been obscuring his vision, he would have gotten a clearer glimpse. Maybe he'd have seen if Aya had really stirred. Maybe he wouldn't be staring like a moron at the redhead, trying to figure out if it had been a trick of the light or his own wistful thinking. 

It took about two minutes of consideration for him to decide that no, Aya probably hadn't moved, and even if he had, it didn't necessarily mean anything. Especially if it *had* been the flicker of an eyelid. He thought he'd seen a movie about that somewhere. About how people made small, reflexive movements even when they were-- But, no. He refused to even *think* it. Aya had been badly hurt, but not *that* badly, right? He had even regained consciousness, briefly, when they'd been trying to get him and Omi safely into the emergency room. So that meant he *had* to be all there, right?

"Youji?" 

"Eh?" 

"Are you okay?" Ken was staring at him. Well, maybe not staring. More like *watching*, his brown eyes tired and intent. "You're staring off at nothing. What's wrong?" Ken sounded like he half expected something to be amiss with Youji, because in his experience, things just went from bad to worse to even worse. Ken sounded resigned.

"I'm not staring off at nothing. I'm fine." Youji waved the question away. "I'm perfectly fine." 

Ken looked suspicious. "You'd better not be lying, Youji. It would be a pain in the butt to have to drag you back here if you keeled over half-way home." Youji grinned at that, at Ken's half-annoyed, half-concerned tone. At the way he was half-heartedly trying to sound normal. 

"Kenken, I didn't know you cared." He purred, not thinking, doing it out of reflex.

"Don't get funny, Youji. And don't call me Kenken." Ken snapped back, sounding like he was either sleep-talking or running on auto.

"Kenken."

"Youji…" Warning in Ken's voice. Youji ignored it. 

"Kenke--"

"Youji-kun! Ken-kun!" Omi interrupted, face creased in a disapproving scowl, his tone scolding. At any other time, Youji would have been all over him, teasing him mercilessly about anything and everything he could think of. Now though, he relented and left both Omi *and* Ken alone. Too bad. The argument had been comforting. 

Deprived of that distraction, Youji sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pulling out one of his remaining cigarettes and holding it unlit between his teeth. He could feel Ken and Omi's eyes on him, questioning, asking what was bothering him without saying a word. He grumbled a few obscenities around the cigarette and shoved his sunnies higher up on his face, to hide his eyes. "Aya looks like shit." He observed, noted how it came out sounding like a complaint. Ken and Omi's eyes slid off him to consider the redhead. Ken looked like he was about to say something comforting but changed his mind, his jaw shut with a snap. 

Omi on the other hand, turned back to Youji with big, blue eyes and, ignoring reality, smiled a little and assured him, "Don't worry, Youji-kun, he doesn't look *that* bad. Aya-kun'll be just fine. He has to be, right?" A flash of worry bordering on fear, "Right, Youji-kun?" He sounded like he feared maybe Youji or Ken were keeping something from him. "He *will* be okay, won't he, Youji-kun?" 

Ken turned to him, too, his chocolate eyes echoing the question and the concern, and Youji groaned. Geez, did *everyone* have to turn to him for answers? Sometimes he absolutely *hated* being the eldest. What did they expect him to say? To do? Did they expect him to make them feel better? Say yes, of course Aya'd be just peachy? He couldn't do that. He wasn't a rock. He didn't know how to take care of them. Hell, he could barely take care of himself. 

Calm. Leadership. Control. That wasn't *his* job. That was *Aya's* job. Although, he admitted, Aya didn't much seem like the expert of 'taking care of things' that they'd always thought he was. Not anymore. Oh well. He'd always sort of known there was something under all that armor. Something that was a hell of a lot more vulnerable than Aya liked to let on. Maybe more vulnerable than even Aya himself knew.

A few moments of silence, long minutes in which Youji's mind took matters into its own hands and decided to wander again. Aimlessly at first, perusing mundane matters like how much beer they had left in the fridge back at the flower shop, what he and Ken would do for dinner, if they decided they didn't want to go home yet, if he should step out for another pack of cigarettes. And then along other lines, about more immediate worries. About something that had been niggling at his mind since last night. 

"Omi…" He paused, waited until he was sure he had their attention. He did. Their eyes hadn't ever really shifted from him, still waiting for that, 'sure, it'll all be fine' that he couldn't give them. "Omi, what *happened*?" 

He needed to know. Above all, *this* he needed to know. Over the years, over the fighting and the killing and the arguing, bickering, and plain old *hurting*, he'd become rather good friends with the redhead. Better friends than he'd thought they could have become on that first day, after that first verbal dig. 

/ /You've no nerve…/ /

He'd been surprised when their friendship had survived the…incident with As--Neu. *Neu*, for godsakes, *not* Asuka. The incident with Neu. He'd been pissed off at Aya's insistence, wanting to know where his sister was, wanting Youji to question the love of his life as if she were a common criminal. And Aya had been furious about Youji's reluctance to do so, had been furious about Youji's seeming indifference concerning the safety of the one person who was very likely Aya's only reason even to live at that point. It had actually come to blows between them. It had taken Ken and Omi's intervention to break it up. 

And the worst part was…he hadn't even known whether she *was* Asuka or not. He probably never would. She could have just been Asuka's doppelganger, someone who looked strikingly similar to Asuka. The way Sakura and Aya-chan resembled each other. Even he'd had his suspicions, taking her to that restaurant, that shop, just to see if she would make the same choices in seating, in clothing, that Asuka had made. He'd been unsure of her identity, uncertain whether or not she was who he thought she was, who he *wanted* her to be. And even in that uncertainty he'd seen fit to disregard Aya-chan's safety. 

Of course, she hadn't been *Aya-chan* then. She'd been a name he more readily associated with a completely different face, a completely different person. She'd been a word, a name that slipped unbidden through the *other* Aya's lips. She'd been nothing more than a shadow over Aya's moods, in his eyes. An unseen, voiceless thing that was almost a presence sometimes, but that was all. 

Now that she was more than that, now that she was *Aya-chan*, and not just some faceless ghost, now that she was a cheerful face in the morning, an extra pair of hands in the shop, a source of lunch, breakfast and mid-afternoon snacks… Well, *now* he felt guilty for choosing a *possible* Asuka over her. Especially since he'd *known* she was in danger. 

And his choice had put the *rest* of Weiss in danger, too. It had gotten Omi hurt. Almost got them all killed. And Aya hadn't said a word about it afterward. Hadn't even bothered to glare at him. It had taken Youji *days* to figure out that Aya wasn't mad at him anymore. That there *was* not a grudge. He hadn't expected that. He'd expected Aya to point out how stupid he had been. How gullible. How *selfish*. He hadn't expected Aya to understand what he'd lost. 

And he *had* been stupid, selfish, blind. Looking back, it was all so *obvious*. She'd just been too good to be true. And when things seemed that good, well, Youji should have known enough by then to realize that that was a cue to start running. 

It had been so *stupid* to keep praying all those years, to keep hoping. Fat lot of good that had done *any* of them, praying. Sometimes he thought Farfarello had one thing right. God had it in for the *lot* of them. Hope and prayer and just wanting it to be true hadn't gotten him anywhere. Had gotten him more screwed over, in fact. He wondered if it would be just as stupid to move onto something else. To let it all go and start over. He wondered if that would just be opening himself up to be hurt again. 

It was true that he'd had more than his fair share of sexual trysts during his years with Weiss, but Youji had long since let the concepts of love and lust run together. It blinded him to the possibilities of actually getting acquainted with his numerous 'dates' in more ways than one. And even knowing exactly how fucked up he was didn't help. He couldn't avoid comparing each and every one of them to *her*. He tried to blank his mind of her, sometimes, when the girl with him was particularly pretty or cute or beautiful. But it didn't do any good. He could never get past the pretty and the cute and the beautiful to the person inside. And, because of Youji's inability to do so, they would always fall short. 

And night after disappointed night, when he staggered in drunk, sick and disheartened, Aya hadn't said a word to condemn him. Actually, he hadn't said a word about it at all, condemning or otherwise, but he *had* unlocked the door to let Youji in on those occasions when he forgot or lost his keys. With Aya, that was a lot. That was probably more than Youji had deserved.

"What happened to Aya?" He asked, itching to light his smoke, just so his hands would have something to do. 

"I don't know, Youji-kun." Omi replied, his voice young and serious. "I told you over the comms. He just…wasn't *there* anymore." He shrugged, not a gesture of indifference, but of his inability to explain. 

"Like Takatori?" Ken piped up, repeating what Omi had said last night.

"No. Kind of, but not *really*." Omi chewed on his lip, eyes distant with thought or drugs. Youji wasn't really sure which. "With Takatori he still *saw* things." He shrugged again, at a loss for words. "It was like it wasn't even *Aya* in there anymore. I don't know."

Ken frowned, his chin resting on his arms again, and mumbled something about Aya being a lunatic and a health hazard and getting someone killed one of these days. His anger had faded somewhat by now, and it occurred to Youji that he hadn't really been mad at Aya's loss of control. He'd been mad at Aya for putting them and Omi in danger. Because he'd put *himself* in danger. Because he'd scared the living shit out of Ken. 

"And speaking of being killed, " Youji peered over his shades at Omi, blinked thoughtfully at him, "why weren't you?"

"Don't sound so disappointed, Yotan!" Omi grinned at his teasing, tried to swat at him. The sudden movement was followed by an expression that said Omi was having serious thoughts about not moving again. Ever. Youji tried to grin at him, but it slid away in the face of concern and weariness. 

"Don't change the subject, Omitchi!" The nickname to show that he got and understood the joke, but was too tired to do anything about it, "What happened?" 

"I *said* I don't know!" Omi snapped, peeved, ignoring it and Youji's aborted grin. Youji rolled his eyes, more than willing to let it slide off. Heck, it wasn't like he hadn't been snapped at before, by Omi or otherwise. 

"I *mean* how did you get out? When we found you guys, Aya looked like dogfood. And it sure as hell didn't look like *you* could have gotten him out.

"…no," Omi agreed, nodding a little. Ken lifted his chin from his arms, attempting to show interest, yawning widely when he failed to muster the energy. "Aya-kun got *me* out."

~#~

Omi's memories of the night were fragmented at best, as if the mind hadn't been able to absorb the events as quickly as they had occurred, and even thinking hard, they only came back in fogged, hazed images. Sounds, he remembered clearer, the shouting echoing in his ears without pictures, or with brief still images. Tugging Aya's arm to get him back on his feet, the accompaniment of gunshots and curses a discordant symphony in his ears, the echo of running, of boots on tile, beat a manic rhythm, a hyperactive drummer out of control. 

/ /A flash of bright hair, and Aya was gone…/ /

/ /Abyssinian? Abyssinian!!!/ /

/ /Aya's gun…/ /

/ /Balinese. There's a problem with Abyssinian./ /

/ /His only hope now was Aya's gun./ /

He had some semblance of a memory of Aya coming to, but it was hazed like last night's dreams when you were rudely awakened in the morning. He thought he remembered crouching on one knee over him, determined as all hell to at least protect Aya for as long as he could. Until either bullets ran out or they were murdered very much the way *they* had murdered these men's companions and friends and workmates, or until the explosives went, taking the building and them, and the guards with them, and it ceased to matter one way or the other. 

He had no memory of how Aya had gotten to his feet in the midst of all that chaos, or how he himself had gotten to the door, the computer room clear for now, the guards possibly held back the knowledge that Omi was now better armed than before, that he was wielding heavier firepower than a handful of darts. 

Aya put his back against the wall beside him, a pace or two further into the room than Omi himself was. He looked confused, orchid color eyes wide and maybe a bit…frightened? He knew he'd been gone, Omi could see as much in the way he way moved. Careful. Uncertain. As if he thought the floor might fall out from under their feet at any second. Omi thought that was closer to the truth than he wanted to think about at the second and banished the thought. 

Had it been Ken, or even Youji, he'd have reached out to make some sort of comforting gesture, ask if they were okay. With Aya, that might do more harm than actual good, so he just gave the redhead a slight nod and gestured to the door. They needed to get out of there. Time for questioning later. *If* they made it out.

"Time?" Aya's voice sounded hoarse. It must hurt him to have to ask that, to have to admit that he had no idea how long he'd been out of it. To have to admit to anyone outside of himself that he had messed up. Badly.

"Dunno." As if *he'd* had time to keep track of it while trying to keep the both of them from getting killed. He glanced to the hall, to make sure he wouldn't get shot while checking his watch--That would be too stupid after all they'd been through, too stupid even for irony--and pulled his sleeve back a little with his free hand, holding the gun on the door with the other. "Three minutes." 

Aya nodded and lifted his sword--amazing that he'd managed to keep hold of it--and stepped away from the wall, pushing Omi behind him in a gesture that said more of paying debts than it did of protecting the younger assassin. It was his fault they were in this mess, and so it was his responsibility to get them out of it. Omi could see him thinking it, could see it in the way he set his jaw, the tone of his voice as he hissed, "Stick close."

By this point Aya was too battered and too exhausted to put up much of a fight against however many guards might still be out for their blood, but he was, thankfully, 'there' again. 'There' enough to know that Omi would *not* be getting out without his assistance. Enough to know that the price for Omi getting out was *his* own body, and maybe his life. And so he used it, not as a weapon, but as a shield, his katana scant protection now that he was too hurt to use it properly. 

All his grace and elegant speed was gone, spent. Every movement he made was painful and forced as he pushed through the first of the guards. Omi didn't know how he managed to do it without getting shot full of holes, didn't have time to think that maybe Aya *did* get shot full of holes. He followed close on the redhead's heels, covering their backs with the .22, shooting anything that looked like it might even be thinking about coming after them. His sniper's aim did a lot to dissuade men who were only after an extra paycheck anyway. 

For the condition he was in, Aya was moving with remarkable speed, his run heavy with a pronounced limp, his katana held loose in fingers that could barely grip it properly anymore. Still, Omi was almost hard pressed to keep up, to stay close to him. But then again, he'd taken some hits himself in that damned office and it was slowing him up, even with the rush of adrenaline and fear and running down liquid display numbers to urge him on. Panting as he jogged after Aya's black-clad form, he pressed a hand to his jacket pocket to make sure the disk was still there…

~#~

"Youji-kun! The disk!" 

Youji didn't answer, just held up his empty hand, and…"Ta-dah!!" He'd used that trick before. Innumerable times on the women who frequented their shop. Omi wasn't *that* impressed by it anymore. Still, the sudden appearance of the disk in elegant fingers brought a sigh of relief to his lips. Of course. It would all have been for nothing if they'd lost *that*. Youji thought it was all still pretty pointless anyway if they ended up losing Aya. Aya was worth a hell of a lot more to them than some lousy disk, no matter the information contained within. 

Maybe Omi had been Weiss long enough to think differently, though. Youji thought it highly likely that the kid's head was scrambled five ways from Sunday. Maybe Omi could see Aya's life as fair exchange for however many lives they might save. After all, losing one in order to save many wasn't so bad, right? In fact, it was a damned good deal.

"Youji-kun?" 

"Hunh?" 

"What's wrong?" Omi looked curiously at him, concern darkening his blue eyes, and Youji quickly revised any cruel thoughts he'd had about the young blonde. Omi would never see one of them dead as anything less than an absolute tragedy. You just didn't let family slip away like that. No. Despite all his worry and anxiousness, cheery, optimistic Omi probably believed Aya would be fine. Omi probably still believed that his family was indestructible. After all, they had always pulled through before, right? It was ridiculous that one of them could die. 

~#~

It was empty. The house was empty. But…that was impossible, wasn't it? They wouldn't leave him alone. They just wouldn't. 

"Okasan?" 

His cry was soft, questioning as he leaned stood on the last stair and peered out into the darkness downstairs. Faint, deeper pools of dark shadow. The outline of furniture, of his father's worn leather recliner, situated near a window where light used to flood in, of his mother's new vase, the antique one she had been so proud of finding. The one you touched on pain of being sent to your room. The one you barely dared *look* at for fear it might fall over, and then where would you be? 

"Okasan!"

The wooden floor was cold under bare feet. He had to hold tight to the railing to clamber down that last step without tripping over the end of the blanket. 

"Okasan! Otousan!" 

He half-ran to the doors of his father's study, where his parents sometimes retreated to discuss important things. Things the rest of the household was not to be privy to. Things like money and the household account and there being no way out. Both he and Aya had listened at the door often enough. Odd how he understood those words and their implications. He hadn't understood them when he'd first 'overheard' them. He was sure he hadn't. Spying on their parents had been a game. Strange how words overheard in that game now sent a cold knife of fear into his gut.

Somewhere in his memory, something blinked on for a second, a flash of memory, of the nightmare that had woken him. Clear for so brief a moment that he wasn't sure he if he had seen it or merely thought it up. The image of a foreigner's face leering down at him. Of Aya, grown and beautiful by any standards, her hair that lovely Asian shade of black that was so dark it almost shone blue. Of Aya-chan broken and unmoving.

There were tears suspended in his thick lashes and he didn't know when he'd shed them. / /No one is dead. Stop being stupid, Ran!/ / he repeated the words to himself, tried to make them sound firm even though his mental voice wavered. 

/ /Aya!!!/ / 

Another part of the nightmare. Not his voice. Who was calling for his sister? Was she lost? Was that why no one was home? 

/ /Aya?/ / 

"N-No. It's Ran." He called out softly, looking around for the owner of the voice. He couldn't see anyone. He hadn't *heard* anyone. Not even the sound of their presence. A cough, the muted creak of the loose floorboard by the front door--The one a two year old Aya bounced on to drive their mother insane. 

/ /squeak squeak squeak…/ /

/ /Aya, stop that./ /

/ /squeak squeak squeak…/ /

/ /Aya!!/ /

Carefully, he pushed open the heavy study doors. As always, the left one squealed a muted complaint on hinges that his father was always meaning to have oiled, and always forgot. "Otousan, is that you?" His voice sounded high in his own ears. Not the tense squeaky high of an anxious Omi--/ /Omi?/ /--but the alto of youth. "Otousan?"

No. The study was empty as the rest of the house, dark as the rest of the house. Papers scattered over his father's desk as if the man had just stepped out for a moment and intended to get back to work soon. Some sewing his mother had been working on draped unceremoniously across a small side-table, just set down for the moment. And both his parents were neat, orderly people. They wouldn't leave things in such disorder. They would be returning soon.

He blinked into the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. And found that it wasn't lack of light that obscured his vision. Crying? Why was he crying? What was there to cry *for*?

Another flash. The nightmare was taking over, stealing away the comfort of being in his own home. He was kneeling in rubble, looking frantically for his sister. How could he have let them become separated? What kind of a brother *was* he? And how could he concentrate on finding Aya when his parents were most likely dead? How could he have arrived here, at their office, just in time to see them die? What kind of a *son* was he? 

"Aya!!!"

He couldn't see her, and she wasn't answering. And then, he saw…a glimpse of dark ponytails, an unmoving body. / /Oh God, Aya, no./ / He had to get up. He had to get to her. Wiping a hand across his eyes to clear them of tears and dust, he slowly raised his head.

Green eyes gazing dispassionately down at him. A leering face. Mocking. He *hated* the man almost instantly. He had seen him before the explosion, and some gut feeling told him to at least partially blame this foreigner for his parent's death. For…Aya's?

And then he was standing in the empty study again, shaking as he tried to keep hold of the blankets. Aya wasn't dead. Aya couldn't be dead. His parents couldn't be dead. He *hadn't* seen their office building explode and he'd never seen Schuldich smirking as he knelt in the rubble. --/ /Schuldich?/ /--It was all just a part of the dream. Part of a dream that would soon fade.

~#~

They had just a breath over two minutes left by the time they reached the stairs. There was a pounding sound in the background, and Omi really couldn't tell anymore if it was the sound of pursuit or the sound of his heart. Well, at least he knew he was alive if it was hammering away like that. 

At least he knew the bullet that had passed through his side hadn't killed him yet. Maybe it ultimately would. The wound was making it extremely painful to move or even stand straight. He'd run the last hundred yards in a kind of hunched over position, twisting around painfully to loose a couple of bullets every now and then. Hunching over brought his line of vision lower, so that when he wasn't shooting, his eyes tended to settle on Aya's heels, on the growing spatters and pools of crimson the redhead was leaving behind them like a trail. He hadn't had the time or the breath to think that Aya might be badly injured. That he might be bleeding out. God, but that was a *lot* of red. 

Grimacing, Omi looked down at himself, at the blood pooling out between his own fingers as they clutched at his side, at the rivulets of it that twined down his bare leg, flowing from the second injury on the outside of his thigh. That leg was numb, and Omi wasn't sure if that were a blessing or not. He couldn't feel the pain, but he couldn't feel the floor under his foot, either. He was stumbling a lot more. 

"Abyssinian?"

Aya was leaning against a wall, his forearm pressed to the marble, staining it with red, panting, gasping for air as he looked over his shoulder at Omi. Omi had the gun leveled on the hall they had just cleared as he talked. "How are we gonna get out, Abyssinian?" he thought about all the stairs between them and freedom and felt torn between running and lying down to let the darkness come for them. But Aya looked all *too* close to that darkness as it was, his eyes glazed as he tried to focus on Omi, and nearly succeeded. Blood was pooling around his feet. Around Omi's. Neither of them would last long without medical attention. *Serious* medical attention. "Abyssinian!!" he snapped, doing what he would never otherwise have dared to do. 

He stepped in close and brought a red-stained hand—the empty one that had been clutching his side—hard across the redhead's face, snapping Aya's head around with the force of it. / /And if that doesn't bring him back…/ / If it didn't bring him back, it would knock him loose completely, send him reeling back inside himself or sliding bonelessly to the floor. But Aya blinked in surprise and shock and glared at him, violet eyes cold and angry and a little more alert. 

A little more, Omi decided, swallowing against a hard lump of terror. A little more and not much else. He still looked hazed and maybe a bit sleepy. The blood loss. Aya was going groggy with it, and there was no time to stop the bleeding, no time to even slow it. He would have to get out under whatever was left of his own strength, or not at all. Angrily wiping tears from his eyes with the back of one small hand, Omi stepped past him and considered the wall. 

Two choices. The stairs and the elevators. Both were death traps. Omi had learnt enough in school drills and otherwise to know that elevators and fires didn't go very well together, and, just in case Ken and Youji's explosives didn't instantly bring everything down in a shower of flame and rubble, he wanted to be somewhere where he could take advantage of the extra time, not trapped in a steel box. Also, he thought the chances were very good that there were guards waiting on the lower floor for them. They could easily find out which floor the elevator was going to, what button Omi keyed in, since there was no time to doctor the system and anyway, he had abandoned his stuff in the office. 

As for the stairs, same problem. Guards would probably be set at the bottom of the enclosed stairwell, maybe at every exit. Also, he thought it very unlikely that he *or* Aya could make it down and out in two minutes. 

"Elevator." 

"Huh?" Omi turned, then nodded and pressed the button. Aya had finally gathered himself together, at least enough to make the decision for them. The light at the top of the elevator ping-ed and the double doors slid open.

Feeling like he was stepping into the jaws of a wolf, Omi took a breath and got in, started punching the 'close door' button before Aya was even inside. "They'll shoot us when we get out, Abyssinian." He called, switching to hold down the 'hold' button. Aya wasn't in yet. "Abyssinian?"

"Get on top." Aya said, gesturing to the small panel above them. Omi blinked up at it. 

"But--"

"Now, Bombay." Sighing, Omi let himself be boosted up, slid the panel aside and clambered out, amongst the cables and winches, careful not to get too close to any of them. 

"What about you?" He called down softly, poking his head out over the hole. Aya sheathed his katana and held a hand out for the gun Omi still carried. Smiled a smile that was twisted with either pain or bitterness and shrugged. 

~#~

"'Kasan? 'Tousan?" Reality had twisted again, and he was back at his parent's office, arriving with Aya, eyes already blinded by tears from what he had seen on the television screen back at the restaurant. Smoke billowing into the sky. Crowds of people yelling and pointing. The calm, even voice of the news station anchor man, calmly and evenly reporting to the world that a building had been destroyed. An act of terrorism. Details to follow after this commercial break. 

The wreckage of what had only this morning been an office building. He had seen it still standing and whole when he'd ridded in with his father, and then walked the short distance to his part time job. 

Another explosion. He was running through halls, breath burning in his throat. Again trying to protect someone, feeling helpless again, feeling again like would fail. And then he blinked and it was gone and he was looking for Aya. Dark ponytails and an unmoving body. Would she ever wake up? All of this for her. Why didn't she wake up?

He was still standing in the study, blinking at scattered papers through a veil of unshed tears. "'Kasan! 'Tousan! Where are you?" His voice was a whisper, afraid that if he let it become more, it would become a scream. Afraid that if he let that happen he wouldn't be able to *stop* screaming. 

/ /Aya./ / 

~#~

Sitting on top of the elevator as they descended, watching the walls of the concrete shaft slide by, Omi worried his lower lip and loaded his crossbow, readied the remaining three or four darts he still carried. His hands were unsteady, shaking from fear and worry. Fear for Aya, who was, as usual, laying the blame for this disaster on his own shoulders. Omi knew what the redhead was planning, and Omi knew better than to try and stop him. 

He would have, if he'd had a better plan, but he had none. He knew Aya was gambling, the way Youji often did. Except that when Aya laid the chips on the table, it wasn't all or nothing like it was with Ken and Youji. When Aya gambled, he knew the odds and this time the odds were one of them, or neither, but not both. Both was too much to ask for. And if one had to go down, well, Aya would see to it that he was the one to do so. After all, he'd already failed them once this night. Omi could see he was determined to at least *try* to fix that.

The elevator jerked to a halt and Omi got quickly to a crouch. Checked his watch. Fingered his ear in a vain gesture, feeling the button of the damaged comm, pushing it in--just in case--and getting no tone. He hadn't expected to. Checked his watch again. One minute. Thirty seconds. Oh, God. Could they make it? It would be close. 

A chime as the elevator doors slid smoothly open. Aya yelling. Sound of fighting from below. Aya crying out in the wake of a gunshot. More fighting. Sounds of metal on metal. Omi shuddered. Omi had to put his crossbow down on the bare metal in front of him to keep from flinging the hatch open and trying to help Aya. 

They had just under one minute when the sounds of battle died down. They? Omi sincerely hoped it was 'they', though the part of his mind that had been so well schooled in logic told him that he was alone now. That Aya was killed and the guards still on the prowl below, unaware of the explosives liberally strung about the place. That he was as good as dead as soon as he showed himself.

But then, the numbers on his watch were running down fast, so he was as good as dead if he *didn't* …and a slim chance was still a far cry better than no chance at all. He really had no choice *but* to slide the panel aside and slip down into the elevator. Even as he did so, prying up the handle on top of the thing and lifting it with sore, shaking arms, he wondered if maybe there wasn't an easier way out. Maybe he should warn the guards of the impending explosions. Maybe that trade would be enough to buy his life and Aya's. 

But even as the stray thought entered his mind, he dismissed it, grimacing. It wouldn't be *wrong* to, not really. These men and the occasional woman amongst them certainly hadn't done anything to deserve death. Were by far cleaner and purer than any of *them*. But they were witnesses and that was enough. Enough, anyway, to sign their death warrants. That had always been the rule and always would be. No witnesses. 

Taking a deep breath and whispering a quick, but heartfelt prayer, Omi grasped the edge of the rectangular hole with one hand and his loaded crossbow with the other, swung down, pointing the bolt towards the door, almost pulling the trigger as he landed hard, causing fire to shoot up his injured leg and the elevator to shake a bit. Good thing he'd managed to curb that instinct to fire and run. The figure standing just outside the elevator wasn't a guard, but Aya, still on his feet despite the outrageous amount of blood pooling around his feet, running down his face. Omi was sure that not all of the crimson rivulets twining down his blade came from his adversaries. At least *some* of it was trickling down Aya's arm, to drip and mingle with the rest of the gore on the marble floor of the lobby. 

"Abyssinian!" Omi gasped, ducking forward and past him, weapon raised and readied. 

"Time?" Aya still sounded like Aya, at least. Or, actually, like Abyssinian. All ice and calm. 

"Thirty seconds." Omi's eyes shot to the front doors, then to the windows, tactician brain kicking in like a horse that had been kicked hard with spurs, options running through his mind and being weighed and dismissed at a speed that, with almost anyone else, would have been impossible. Still, it was a depressingly short list. Thirty seconds. Not the best option, but there was nothing that could be done about that. The front door was too much a risk. Side then. The staff entrance. "Come on Abyssinian."

Aya followed mutely as he led the way across the polished floor. Omi could see himself in it. He looked scared and tired and for once, far older than his age. He looked like Aya sometimes did. Like he could be a thousand years old. Right now, he felt it. 

Neither of them could run anymore. Aya was slipping in his own blood, so that Omi had to slow and help him. Aya kept glaring at him for that. For acknowledging what Aya could only perceive as weakness, and Omi saw as strength. That Aya had done that to spare his, *Omi's* life, when Omi still sometimes wondered if he, as a Takatori, had a right to claim Aya as a friend. If he even had a right to live when he had killed his brothers and helped kill his father. So Omi couldn't very well leave him, could he? Not while both of them still drew breath. As Youji said. You didn't just let family die. 

Omi couldn't remember now exactly why Youji had said that, or in what context, but it was as true now as it had been then. Truer. Things like that didn't tend to mean *anything* until you were actually faced with the decision. And while it had never been an issue which way Omi would choose, his brain kept nagging at him, telling him there was no way in all hell they would both get out. Giving him the same odds it had given him earlier. One or neither. But not both. 

He told it to shut up, but it just started reciting numbers at him. Chanting them in reverse order until the rest of him caught up with it and realized it was a countdown, and that it was down to twenty seconds. His heart started thumping. He tugged on Aya's arm. "Hurry up, Abyssinian."

"Omi…" Aya made an attempt to order him to leave, but stopped in the middle of it, blinking into Omi's blue eyes and maybe seeing there what Omi had seen in *his* eyes when he regarded Aya-chan. The thought that was more an emotion than anything else. Protect family. You don't just leave family. The words sounded like something from a bad gangster movie, but the emotion that went with it was extremely fierce, surprisingly proud. He was as responsible for Aya's safety as Aya was for his, no matter who would ultimately have answer to their 'employer'. 

Omi blinked. Realized suddenly how Aya could have done all this killing for so long, despite everything, despite what it cost him. Realized how--why--he could do it to save Aya-chan. To give her that chance at reclaiming her place in the world. Realized he, Omi, could do the same for any of *them*. Aya, Ken, Youji…Aya-chan. No time to think about it, though. His brain screamed *fifteen seconds*, signaling all sorts of alarms and triggering another rush of adrenaline as he shouted "Fifteen, Abyssinian!!!" 

Aya nodded and gritted his teeth, taking his weight off Omi as if only now realizing just how much the slight blonde had been supporting him. His grip on his katana slipped and it clattered to the ground, Omi scooping it up and handing it back even as he tried to run, a clumsy, faltering limp. Aya's attempt to speed up wasn't much better, was only slightly smoother by the favor of his natural grace. 

/ /Ten./ / 

His mind attached a neat little factoid to that, telling him that a sprinter could cover a good hundred meters in that time, and they were only a few short yards from the door. Yeah. A few *short* yards. With both of them bleeding all over the place and barely standing. If they met any opposition at all, they were done for.

Seven seconds left as they reached the door.

Six when Omi stumbled and nearly landed on his face. If he had, he's never have summoned the strength to get back up.

Five as they found the energy to break into a mad dash, fear and adrenaline masking the pain. Enough that Omi doubted he'd notice loosing an arm at this point. He'd probably even get off a few good shots with his crossbow before he realized it was gone. 

Four seconds. Aya was thrown against his back, bringing them both down in a slight hollow as heat and debris washed over them. Shit. Aya was again taking the brunt of it, when he already looked like he would keel over any second. 

"ABYSSINIAN!!!!" Omi's scream rose high and pained, as he tried to twist around and see if Aya was alive, then it was washed away, drowned in the roar of what could only be a second explosion. 

Omi's breath was gone in a rush of heated air. Stolen away so that he gasped reflexively, wondering the whole while if maybe he'd inhaled flames and just hadn't realized it yet. If maybe it would take a couple of seconds for his body to die. It certainly felt like he had. 

Silence. For so short a time that Omi wasn't sure whether he'd heard Aya's harsh breathing, or if it was his own struggling lungs and wistful thinking. 

The third explosion rumbled through the ground beneath his ear like an earthquake. He felt like he was being sprayed with molted metal. A million objects, each impacting with his body with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. Not that there was much left to knock out. He was practically choking on the heat anyway, darkness swimming in and out around the edges of his vision. If he dared to look up, he thought he'd probably see flames still sweeping over them. He wondered if his body was on fire, or if it just felt like it was. How much heat could the human body tolerate before it shut down? 

And then the soft caress of cooler air. Aya moaned softly, and Omi carefully pushed him off, just to feel the night air chill against his skin. Against skin wet with his own blood and Aya's. Who cared anymore, though? They were out. They were out and the night was cool and that was all that mattered. 

~#~

Sounds. Finally he could hear sounds. They rang out, echoing down the hallway. He was still in his home, though he didn't seem to have any memories associated with it. No images of Aya, of his parents, of himself.

He followed the noise, shivering at the feel of cold tiles beneath his feet, clutching at his blanket. The end of it trailed behind him, sweeping the floor. He could hear someone calling for his sister. So. That was where they were. 'Tousan's office.

Of course. He wasn't home. He knew why this place was familiar. It was his father's office. He had been here often enough, his father proud of his obviously clever son, even if some of his colleagues made rude jokes about his vivid hair, and how little he resembled anyone in his family, and aren't you worried, Fujimiya-san?

He remembered his father's laughter, assuring them that yes, the boy was his own. Odd that he understood those jokes now. He recalled being puzzled at the time, not so long ago. Only a couple of weeks. He wondered why the *thought* of those jokes and his father's warm laughter sent a stab of pain to his heart. "Otousan!" he called, hurrying down the hall towards his father's office. Half-expecting him to step out of the door with open arms.

/ /Eh? Is that Ran? Where's your lovely Okasan?/ /

/ /Ran. Aya. You've grown since this morning. I hardly recognize you anymore./ /

"Otousan!!" A squeak. Reminiscent of the faulty study door. The floor shook beneath his bare feet, and something in his mind recognized the soft growl that rumbled up through the concrete as the sound of an explosion on a lower level. Something warned him that flame climbed upwards. He needed to find his father. 

Abandoning the blanket, he ran, a short-strided trot that still held some of the toddler's falter. He couldn't stumble now, though. He had to tell his father that they were in trouble. 

A second rumble, and a wall fell in to his left, sending rubble cascading across the hall in front of him like a parody of spilled water. He just clambered over it, anxious, desperate, dropping to hands and knees to scramble over when the footing proved too treacherous. "Otousan!" He was finally at the door to the office. Finally. 

On tiptoes, he turned the knob and pushed, swinging the door inwards. 

/ /Aya./ /

What he saw wasn't his father. The man before him was younger than the image of his father he carried with him, and he moved with a fluid, deadly grace that his father had never had. This man was..frightening. Long dark coat. Shining, dripping blade. Red hair. Bodies strewn haphazardly across the floor. Blood spattering across the walls as that blade swung again. He hadn't noticed the others in the room, moving in a swarming dance around the man. Hadn't noticed them until one of them fell at his feet with a muffled thud, spraying red across his bare toes. 

He looked up then, at the aftermath of the battle, and met amethyst eyes with orchid. 

No. There was no longer any father. No longer a mother. And the nightmare wasn't a dream. The nightmare was his reality. 

He wanted to tell this older image of himself that it would have been better if *he* were the one dead. He wanted to tell him that he deserved it far more than the ones laying at his feet.

########

Okay. Moving on to next part. Wheeeeee!!!! 


	4. white walls

Title: steel runs in the blood [4/??]  
  
Author: dragonflyred7  
  
Pairings: Slight YoujixAya(kun)-ness (Any objections? *glares at the rankens*) Don't worry. Its not scary. Its barely even there. I promise to try harder to bring the boys together.  
  
Teaser:Mou! Time to change the teaser, since its not the same story anymore. Aya falls apart, and Aya-chan has to find out why, and maybe put him back together. If she can. Expect this to change as the story evolves (Or: randomly mutates). The damned thing has its own mind, and the weiss boys are being equally stubborn.  
  
Rating and warnings: PG-13(?) For violence, angst, shounen ai (kind of), and language.  
  
Spoilers: Many, from all over the place (anime series, assassin and white shaman, etc), and not necessarily overly correct. List goes on indefinitely, but I improvise/change anything I don't know or doesn't fit the plot. (Just pretend I have one ^^;)  
  
Status: In progress. But if you all hate it, I can drag it out back and shoot it in the head for you. It's a first fic. Be gentle. Also, I have a really bad track record for finishing things I start.  
  
Archive: Why would you ever want it? But if you do, e-mail me first and tell me where it is so I can go ooh and aah at it.  
  
Thanks to: Yen, who wrote the fic, 'Aya's Scheme'. Something Youji says in that inspired the title of this one. It all grew from there. And a HUGE thanks to Amari, who beta-ed this section and put up with my ellipses. *winces* I was in an ellipse mood, I think, when I wrote this. I can't see why people take the time out from their busy lives to beta for fic writers, but I'm glad they do. *hugs*  
  
Disclaimer: I'm using Weiss and it's characters without permission. This story is written for fun only and I'm not making any money off of it. All characters and most of everything else belong to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss, and not, unfortunately, to me.  
  
Okay, chibis:  
  
*this* is emphasis, and this is thoughts and memories, anything going on in someone's head. (was / /this/ /) Got it?  
  
Additional Author's notes, or, Last time, on SRITB:  
  
It's been a while, so I thought I'd better do a quick recap, for those of you who don't want to read everything over again or just need a quick reminder. In part one, Aya went crazy on a mission, messed the whole thing up for everyone and nearly got Omi and himself killed when their bombs went off. In part two, Youji phoned Aya-chan to tell her Aya and Omi are in hospital. In part four, Youji worries and Omi tells how they escaped. Aya has nasty dreams.  
  
A quick note on names, or what this idiot should have explained ages ago:  
  
This is confusing. I confused myself. It's about the Aya, Aya-chan, Ran thing and who calls who what. And, since it's been a while, I thought I'd go over this, too. What's explained in part two: Aya-chan calls Aya 'Ran' in her thoughts and 'Aya-niichan' out loud. What's not explained but just is: Youji, Ken, and Omi call Aya-chan 'Aya-chan' and Aya-Ran 'Aya'. There's a little more on the name thing in this chapter, but if anyone is still confused at the end of it, feel free to mail me and bawl me out. Oh yeah, this means you have to look out for POVs, but you knew that, right?  
  
One last thing, or begging shamelessly:  
  
C&C, onegaaaiiiii? *sniff* Chapters come out quicker when I get feedback. Really. *tries to look convincing*  
  
########  
  
steel runs in the blood  
  
by dragonflyred7  
  
scene 3: white walls  
  
Late evening. The brilliant hues painting the sky already fading away into soft indigo. Soon, the color would deepen to purple, then deep velvet blue, and then there would be only dark blackness. Imperfect, broken all over by the bright points of city lights and by the roar of passing vehicles.  
  
Up here though, that sound was muffled, and the curtains were pulled close to filter out the prying lights and the soft whir and chirp of summer insects, which had come out now that the day was cooler. The only whir here was that of the air conditioner, almost uncomfortably chilly though he had blankets piled over him and pulled close.  
  
At home the sounds of the city and of the night would have been close by, just outside the window of his room, or maybe *in* the room if he'd left the glass open during the day, admitting some small creature. Sometimes, when Ken forgot to close the door after himself, the whole building would be filled with them and Youji's cursing. At home, the darkness would have been deeper. Still diluted and fractioned by the illumination of billboards, and passing cars, but unpunctured by the small bright lights of machinery. Undisturbed by the constant beeping that seemed to come from somewhere nearby. Unbroken by soft snoring and by the sound of someone shifting in their sleep.  
  
At home, the ceiling wasn't this white. It was a little yellowed with age and the plaster a little cracked from someone having banged nails into it sometime before it had become his room. He had wondered about that, many times, as he lay awake over many, many nights. What would have been hung from those nails? Lamps, perhaps? Maybe a mobile like the one Aya-chan used to have in her room, long ago. An elegant, costly thing of crystal and cut glass that had refracted and reflected the light in little rainbows. Much like the ones that were even now dancing in the corners of his vision.  
  
Even blinking, he couldn't seem to clear his eyes, couldn't make the objects around him stop blurring in and out of focus, stop dancing and wavering. He sighed, surrounded by uncertain shadows whose shapes he couldn't interpret, despite the light filtering in from outside. Well, no. He could put a name to some of them.  
  
The bulky huddled shape to his left could only be Ken, sleeping with his chin on folded arms and Youji's jacket over his head and shoulders, changing his outline so that he looked larger than he really was, and shapeless. It had to be Ken, the way he was snoring and muttering. The way he shifted and sighed and cursed in his sleep before going peacefully still again. It was his voice Aya recognized first, the first thing that had hinted at where he was. And working from that, he could guess that the *other* shadow--a much smaller shape curled on the other bed and breathing deeply and steadily, completely dead to the world--was almost definitely Omi. So exhausted that he wasn't even dreaming like Ken was.  
  
And that was two. He had been unable for a long time to find the third. Had cast about the room with imperfect vision and heightening panic, willing the veiled objects to coalesce into something he could recognize. Something familiar. Maybe into Youji, though it was just as likely that Youji was dead through his--Aya's--folly. Through his damned weakness and idiocy. Maybe that was what Ken was muttering and whimpering about. Maybe he had gotten Youji killed, just as he'd gotten Omi hurt. He wished they'd wake up. He could determine just *how* badly he'd wronged them if they woke up. He could ask where the hell Youji was.  
  
Maybe. If his voice cooperated. He'd tried to wake Ken already, but his voice come out in a dry croak, and then in a feeble whisper. Not enough to disturb Ken's slumber when he was flat out tired like Aya was sure they all were. And definitely not enough to wake Omi if Ken's muffled grumbling wasn't bothering him.  
  
But then, if either of them did wake, if he did have the strength to speak . . .. Would he *want* to ask? Would he really want to *know* if Youji were dead and his body abandoned somewhere? It would be his fault, after all, and he didn't know if he could carry that burden along with all the others. Not when it seemed that all the demons of his past and all his fears for and of the future were conspiring to drag him down, to submerge and drown him. To know Youji was dead, and to *know*, beyond a doubt, that he was the cause of it. So, would he want to ask? He probably wouldn't have the courage. Not that it mattered. He didn't want to hear the words anyway.  
  
Aya . . . Youji's dead . . . I'm sorry Aya.  
  
Just the thought of the words hurt. A familiar stab of agony that gathered into a hard ball in his chest, tightening like a fist until he reminded himself to breathe, he didn't know anything yet. Youji could be fine, laughing and smoking or flirting somewhere, just as well as he could be cold and hard and dead. Besides, why did he expect Youji to be here, anyway? Youji wasn't the sort of person who would willingly sit still in a quiet, bland hospital room with nothing to do but watch over some idiot who'd nearly gotten Omi killed.  
  
And he knew how fond Youji was of Omi. Knew because Youji went out of his way to make Omi's life as difficult as humanly possible. 'Helping' him with his school work, 'helping' him to get dates, 'helping' him to be adult and mature and all of the things Youji couldn't seem to manage for himself, but felt perfectly capable of tutoring others in. And Ken was looking after Omi, so why would Youji want to be in here with *him*?  
  
A soft sigh. Strange how much even that shallow breath hurt. It shouldn't be enough to hurt like that. He closed his eyes against the pain and thought again, curiously, of Youji. Looking for comfort? Comfort which somehow came with Youji's company when he wasn't smoking like a whole damned industry district and making every effort to be a general and all- around pain in the butt. It had been Youji who had talked him into finally going to see his sister. Youji who had gone with him on that first, terrifying meeting as moral support, 'cause you can't run forever, Aya, and because she needs to know you're okay.  
  
'Sides. I want my room back. I'm sick of bunking with you guys.  
  
And somehow, Youji always managed to be *there* when Aya--when any of them--needed him. Not necessarily *doing* anything--helpful or otherwise-- because activity was just too much to ask, especially of Youji. But not necessarily *saying* anything either. Just *there*.  
  
And what if he's not anymore? What if he *is* dead?  
  
Aya contemplated that for a while, turning it over in his mind as he gazed at the immaculate ceiling. White. A hateful color. The red and orange that had been playing across it, staining it, gone now. There was hardly any light filtering in from outside now, and Aya wasn't sure if he was thankful for the coming dark or not. So what if Youji was dead? He had promised himself he wouldn't care. About any of them. He could survive well enough on his own, without whatever it was that Youji carried with him. Comfort, friendship. Whatever it was, he didn't need it. He could survive well enough on his own.  
  
What he needed was something to distract his thoughts. Needed something else to think on, something to listen to other than the silence and the sounds of Ken and Omi deep in slumber. He needed something to take his mind off the flowershop and what it would be like without Youji. What it would be like not to have to open all the shop windows to get rid off all the smoke before any customers showed up. What it would be like to have to make his *own* coffee, because Ken, with his sweet tooth, didn't touch the stuff and Omi only drank it if someone else would make it *for* him. Youji practically lived off the stuff. Youji somehow had a pot of it on before he was even out of bed.  
  
It would be *his* fault that Youji was gone. Dead. He would be dead because of Aya and because Aya was weak. Because *Aya* didn't have it in him to *not* fuck up and turn a simple in and out mission into an absolute disaster.  
  
But then, the people around him *always* died. And the best he could do for himself and for them was to push them away. He had been--How could he . . .? How could he have been so foolish and so *stupid* as to let them all slide through his armor? *Especially* Youji? Youji, who'd tied so hard to get through it, at first. He couldn't keep them safe. That was all Omi. Omi, who, with his amazing, light-speed hard-drive of a brain, had them all stunned. He couldn't forget that Omi'd had to strike him to get his mind back on the job. He couldn't forget that Omi'd had to prop him up and practically carry him towards the door.  
  
God. And he was supposed to be watching *Omi's* back? *He* was supposed to be keeping *Omi* safe? He hadn't even been able to keep *himself* safe. In the end, Omi'd have been better off without him. In the end, *he* was the one who'd needed help. So how was he supposed to take care of *them*? He'd been pushed to his limits just trying to keep *Aya- chan* safe. Beyond his limits. He'd needed *help* to do it. Needed help to get her back. He hadn't even been able to do that much on his own.  
  
Aya-chan.  
  
Strange how well and how easily that name flowed off his tongue and through his mind, when always before she'd simply been 'Aya'. It had been easy in his thoughts to call her that. Easy for her to remain 'Aya' when he had never had to speak the name to anyone but her.  
  
Aya. Sorry I'm late today. I had to work late last night.  
  
I'm so sorry this happened to you, Aya. I should never have let go of your hand.  
  
Aya, I'm sorry I couldn't come yesterday. But look! I brought you flowers.  
  
Aya . . .. I'm sorry.  
  
He'd had to school himself to call her Aya-chan. To use that name *every* time he referred to her, whether it was out loud or not. Because if *she* was Aya-chan, then he could remain Aya. And if he could be Aya, he wouldn't have to be Ran, even in his own thoughts. So she was Aya-chan, and he was whoever he had been all these years, lost somewhere within himself.  
  
He couldn't protect her. He couldn't protect *anyone*. Not his family. Not his parents. Not Aya-chan. Whenever he closed his eyes he could still see them dying. A shadow of thought almost as painful as the still replaying nightmare of watching Aya-chan being hit by that car. Over and over and over. But he'd had his revenge, and he had *her*, so why didn't it stop?  
  
But he didn't want to think about that. Or about how fearing for Omi had felt so similar to fearing for her. It lacked the bitter panic, true, but the *grief* the sense of *failure* he'd felt was almost identical.  
  
He could hardly even remember what had happened that night, other than a few scattered, oddly clear images. Fogged recollections that made so little sense that they must have been the remnants of a dream. Mostly, he recalled only the darkness. Comforting, soothing, terrifying. Possessive. That darkness had a claim on him that *nothing* could shake loose. And if that darkness wanted him to fail, he would fail. He had never *been* strong enough to deny anything to those seductive shadows, never been able to lie to the voice that echoed from them. In the hall of that office building, he'd discovered again that there was no defense against its simple truths.  
  
I wonder if you even care anymore how many you kill? Or maybe you've killed so many that it doesn't matter anymore.  
  
He hadn't known, when it had come for the first time, reasoning in its quiet, mocking tones. When it had first come, whispering in the dead of night, he had been tempted to blame it all on an old adversary and to fall back on the safety of its being someone else's doing, someone else in his mind. And he didn't *know* whose voice it had been that pulled him from that hall and into whatever dark place he had been, but in spite of his denial and his internal arguments and fears, and in spite of the lingering haze still in his mind, he knew it must have been himself. He knew the German's voice too well by now, and knew too intimately the brush of another mind against his own consciousness. And while he'd have liked to blame such lack of control on Shuldich, he was honest enough to admit that his touch had been notably absent.  
  
So it must be coming from somewhere within himself. From some dark corner of his mind, where, maybe, his conscience was coming back to life. He thought he'd killed it years ago when he'd taken his first life for Kritiker and told himself there was *nothing* to be sorry for. *Every* time he took a life for Kritiker and told himself there was nothing to be sorry for. How could someone living for revenge *have* a conscience?  
  
He was a murderer. No. A killer. That was all. Aya-chan was awake now and that dark voice had been right. He had no excuses now. He had no reason to think himself clean enough to be with her. She would have been better off without him. What good had his longed-for revenge done her, anyway? They had still lost everything. She had lost more. She had lost her parents *and* her brother. The Ran she'd known was long dead and long buried within the creature that had stolen her name and worn it like a shield to keep all the darkness and all the death away from himself. Coward.  
  
He stared up at the ceiling and at the faint play of shadows there, at the patches of pitch-black darkness shifting across the uniform gray of shaded white and for a brief moment, he hated Youji. If it hadn't been for Youji, Aya-chan would still be safe, far away from him--from them--and the darkness that hunted them, that had followed them like a bloodhound hot on a trail. If it weren't for Youji, he would still be watching her in secret, silently thankful that she was awake, and unharmed, and as safe as one could hope to be in a city like Tokyo. He should *never* have let Youji talk him into seeing Aya-chan. Nevermind how happy she'd been to see him, to meet them.  
  
~#~  
  
He'd stood on the other side of the street for a long, long time. Just watching. Watching and fearing and trying to formulate something to say. Wondering if he should do this. If he *could* do this.  
  
His mind, however, refused to settle on the matter. His mind seemed more interested in noting the way the wind was blowing down the street and how it was chillier now than it had been when they'd left the trailer. In noting the way an empty can had blown down the sidewalk, clattering until it caught on a display stand. In the silence that followed it, was the soft sound of birdsong, and his eyes went to the phone line strung across the street and the small creature perched there, one of the few not yet gone for the winter. Maybe it had been left by its flock and was even now trying to find them, singing and expecting something other than silence in return. The bird was watching him and he looked away, feeling a sudden nervous cramping of his stomach.  
  
The shop, he'd noticed, hadn't changed much since the day they'd loaded a few of their belongings into the trailer and left for Kyoto. It had been, actually, in better shape. The glass hadn't been smudged as it had always been back when they'd worked here--the result of having many school children around and of Youji neglecting his duties. There was a new sign hung where Ken's old one used to--this one decorated with love-hearts and butterflies instead of flowers and sunshines and clouds--announcing a new shipment of summer-flowers. Greenhouse grown and ridiculously popular in the winter despite their also ridiculous price. People found warmth wherever they, could, he supposed, when they were surrounded by cold.  
  
He remembered those small details better than whatever he'd finally said, what she'd said. He remembered them better than he did the expression of shock and surprise in eyes he could barely bring himself to meet.  
  
From across the street Aya had looked . . . like Aya. Bright and young as he remembered her. Through the glass, he'd been able to see her mouth moving, and realized she was chattering to someone. It made him smile. He'd missed the sound of her voice. He'd remembered how she'd used to chatter at him, how she used to spin around in the middle of their house to show off the way her skirts swirled around her.  
  
Don't I look like a princess, Ran-nii?  
  
You're not dignified enough to be a princess.  
  
RAN. NII. CHAN!!!  
  
She'd moved about the flower shop as they had, tending the blooms and maybe singing under her breath like Ken, maybe talking to the flowers like Omi, insisting it helped them grow when Youji teased him.  
  
It seemed too long ago now. Watching her was like watching a past life, like seeing a ghost. He could almost see their own specters lingering about her, Ken talking away soundlessly, Omi's eyes bright as he laughed silently, Youji striking poses in the doorway and peering over the top of his dark glasses at them, wordlessly asking what they thought and was he sexy as all hell or *what*? Himself, blinking at him and wondering what he should say or if he should say anything.  
  
They'd been lost then. Maybe more even than they were now. But he'd had a strange longing for those days back in the shop and it pulled at him in a way that was not altogether painful, yet not all together pleasant.  
  
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, leaning against cold, chilled brick and watching her and the phantoms of the past. Wasn't sure how long he stood huddled deep in his coat and in his thoughts, face hidden by the raised collar and bright hair concealed beneath a hat. Just to keep out the cold. He wasn't here to watch in anonymous silence this time. He was here to say hello to his family and his blood for the first time in a long, long while. And for the first time in an even longer while, he had a hope of getting a reply. The thought was intoxicating. He was almost giddy with it. So no, the clothes--the thick coat and dark cap--weren't for concealment's sake this time. They were there because despite the mildness of the autumn day he couldn't stop shivering.  
  
Youji had finally nudged him, a gentle elbow to the ribs that wasn't meant to hurt, but had anyway. His entire chest had ached. He'd felt short of breath. He'd felt like he was being choked and maybe crushed. Like something hard and heavy and painful had lodged itself in his throat. The sound he'd tried to make in protest to Youji's gesture never made it past that obstruction. It just died there and added to the pain. He swallowed against it. Hard. Had felt it shift a little, but not dissolve.  
  
I can't do this.  
  
Sure you can. You said you would. You *promised*. Besides. I want my room back.  
  
He had no memory of actually pushing off the brick wall. No memory of stepping off the curb and into the street, of walking across it. Oddly, his mind had been instead chosen to record the warmth of Youji's hand on his shoulder and the hard thump of his heart in his chest.  
  
The little silver bells on the door had chimed, announcing their entry. A familiar sound that rang distantly in his ears like a childhood memory. Like the echo of Aya's laughter and for a moment his mind had focused on that. On small flashes of memory as he tried to find some of his customary composure as the bell sounded again, jarred by the impact of the door closing behind Youji.  
  
The sound of that metallic chiming brought the specters back, taking him away from this moment he had wanted and dreaded for so long. In his memory, the bell jangled as Ken rushed in and shook the rain off his clothes and out of his hair, sending droplets flying across the shop. The same bell, the same chiming tones as a past shadow of Omi bounced in, shoving a sheaf of papers under Youji's nose.  
  
Ha! A-plus! Pay up, Youji-kun!!  
  
The same bell, tinkling softly as Youji slid out into the night as adorned as a peacock but smooth as a cat on the prowl. That same bell, stirred by the wind when the door was propped open on particularly hot days.  
  
And then Youji's voice, drawing him back to where he'd longed to be all this time and from which he now wished he could flee.  
  
Aya?  
  
Yes?  
  
She hadn't recognized him. She had blinked at Youji for knowing her name, obviously trying to place him. She had asked if they had met before and would he like some flowers?  
  
And then silence. A long, uncomfortable silence that dragged on and begged to be broken. He could clearly remember the words wanting to be said, waiting to be voiced. They'd burned in his throat and died there, just as the tears had died before they'd ever found freedom. And he'd swallowed hard again--as he had countless times this day and the one before, tense with apprehension, feeling stupid and helpless. Feeling that this was perhaps, the greatest mistake he'd ever made, but he *had* promised that he would talk to her today.  
  
He'd tried to think of something to say. Something that wouldn't sound ludicrous and out of place, very aware the entire time of Youji, standing close, silently urging him on, silently lending support. Adding to the tumult in his mind. He hadn't needed Youji there to see this, hadn't need him to witness this if he made some stupid mistake. If she pushed him out the door and slammed it in his face. But he would never be able to do this without him, either. Without his help.  
  
In the end, he hadn't needed to say anything. Aya's eyes were locked on him. Had been ever since he'd stepped from the shelter of Youji's shadow, where he had been effectively obscured by Youji's taller frame. She looked scared and doubtful and hopeful and nervous, and then her eyes widened in disbelief and she'd darted forward--far quicker than he'd ever thought she could be--and snatched the hat off his head, freeing bright, distinctive locks.  
  
They'd' all three frozen. Aya in delighted, disbelieving surprise, and Youji in pure startlement, maybe, or maybe because his instincts were screaming at the sudden movement and his brain busy shouting them down. And him? He'd stood there too petrified to move, because Aya's impulsive action had ripped all control of the situation out of his hands.  
  
She'd stared at him, and he'd stared back for a long, long time. And then he'd mustered what had left of his failing nerves and courage and said it, and even when he had, no sudden warmth had come flooding back to chase away the chill and the lingering shivers. So he'd waited, half-afraid she wouldn't answer. But she had, and she'd sounded breathless and happy like she'd just had a miracle bestowed upon her. And she'd laughed and it was an exact copy of the way she sounded in his memories. It sounded like the echo that had haunted him for so long, out of reach. She was alive as he remembered her being *before* all this. She was everything he'd hoped and fought and bled for and as she rushed forward to hug him, as her arms locked around him and she buried her face against his coat, he felt...nothing.  
  
Hello . . . Aya.  
  
Ran-nii!! I've missed you so much!  
  
~#~  
  
Lying awake in the darkened hospital room, staring at shadow-draped white walls and thinking of that day, he was pretty sure he had died long, long ago. And maybe last night had just been his body trying to catch up with his soul.  
  
~#~  
  
Youji was waiting for her. He was standing in the lobby, leaning against a wall by the administration desk and chatting up the nurses when she finally stepped through the glass sliding doors, still shoving her cartoon- character wallet into her dark leather purse. A contradiction there. A child's wallet, a grown woman's purse. Somehow she felt it suited her, a young girl inside an increasingly adult body.  
  
She'd had the wallet awhile now, a gift from Ran, while the purse was newer, purchased herself from the window of a clothing store she'd visited with Youji in tow. He hadn't said anything about her purchasing it, either, the way Ran might have, save to tell her that she didn't need to anything but who she felt she was, no matter what she might be on the outside. If you feel sixteen, hell, act sixteen.  
  
Youji. She smiled at the thought and at the memory and at him, as he glanced up and caught her eye. He smiled back. That now familiar Youji smirk that usually sparkled, sultry and flirty and surprisingly boyish. She glared at it, silently telling him she knew him, and she could see through that act, so knock it off. He did, straightening, taking his weight off the wall and saying something to the nurses who nodded and smiled at him and then at her.  
  
She smiled politely back and bowed slightly to them before turning to Youji and narrowing her eyes at him in silent disapproval. He actually had the grace to look embarrassed. To look guilty.  
  
"You hung up on me, Youji-niichan. You hung up without even telling me where you were." She told him, deadly quiet, and he blinked, scrutinizing her over the top of his shades, then grinned.  
  
"Sorry. I had a lot on my mind. I was gonna call back."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Look, Aya-chan, I--"  
  
"Are they okay?" God, how she'd been wanting to ask that. That question had repeated itself in her mind throughout the day. Over and over until her stomach churned and she felt torn between breaking down in tears and vomiting.  
  
"Well, " She could hear the hesitation in it as Youji raked his long fingers through his hair, wincing when they caught. He looked like he'd slept badly, if at all, and like he needed a shower and maybe some hot soup. "I don't know. Omi's fine, or will be. He woke up already, but was asleep when I left the room and Aya..."  
  
"And Aya?" She prompted, impatient. Put on edge by the way Youji was drawing this out. By the way he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.  
  
"Well, he was in pretty bad shape and still out of it when I came down here. I think he'll be okay, though, Aya-chan, really. He's not weak, your brother. Okay?"  
  
It wasn't okay. It was far, far form 'okay'. It was a catastrophe. A disaster. It meant Ran had been unconscious for over twelve hours now, if she counted from the time Youji had called her, and something inside her said that whatever had happened to them had happened long before. "Sure, Youji-niichan." She said, as one hand tightened on her bag.  
  
"God, Aya-chan. I'm sorry. If I could have done anything to stop this, anything at all, I would have. You don't deserve to lose him again. Sorry."  
  
"It's okay." She muttered, as she followed him to the elevator, but all she could think was that people seemed to be apologizing a lot to her these days.  
  
Quietly, she followed Youji to the elevators, then blinked when he took the stairs instead, and trailed after him. She was tired. Tired from crying and worrying and not knowing. Something evil and menacing in the back of her mind kept telling her that Ran would die and leave her alone. She had to remind it that she had Omi and Ken and Youji, and Momoe-san and even Sakura. She would never be alone unless it was by her own choice.  
  
Youji must have noticed her preoccupation, because he stopped on the landing, just above her and leaned over on folded arms, green eyes dark and serious. "Aya-chan. He'll be okay. I promise." And she looked up, wondering how in the world he could promise such a thing, when it was certainly not in his power to do anything about it. She was going to tell him what her father had told her, that a promise was a promise and not to be made lightly. That you shouldn't make them if you couldn't keep them. But then she thought that maybe Youji knew that already.  
  
"He'd better be." She said instead, climbing the last few steps that separated them and taking his hand the way she'd taken Ran's as he led her up to the grave where their parent were buried. She remembered Ran looking away over the sea as she read the inscription on the stone and dissolved into tears, only now really believing what he had told her. Only now realizing that they were really dead and gone.  
  
Only Ran wasn't dead. Youji had promised her. Youji had promised he would be okay. She tightened her grip on his hand and stepped past him, anxiously pulling him up the stairs. "Come *on*, Youji-niichan!"  
  
"Slow down. I'm tired."  
  
"*You* took the stairs." She reminded him, not slowing her pace in the slightest. "What floor?"  
  
"Jeez, Aya-chan. You're almost as bad as Ken." Youji's complaint was meant in jest, though, and he grinned as he stepped past her and into a hallway. It was long and straight as hospital hallways tended to be, with doors opening onto it and signs suspended from the ceiling and tacked to the walls, warning off smokers and young children.  
  
She followed Youji down it, never letting go of his hand, feeling suddenly younger than even her time asleep could account for, and scared. "You promised." She reminded him, trying to sound like Ran, strong and firm. It came out a soft whisper instead. Youji nodded anyway.  
  
"I know." He replied as he opened a door for her and stood to one side to let her pass. She looked at him and at the names on the wall beside him and slipped in, taking a deep breath as she did.  
  
Inside it was dark. Not pitch dark, but just gloomy. Comfortable and cozy or creepy and lonely, depending on one's mood. Omi was asleep, curled like a cat among sheets and magazines, nearly hidden beneath white blankets. Ken's head rested on the edge of the mattress, pillowed on tanned, folded arms and rumpled, glossy pages.  
  
Omi was okay. Youji *hadn't* lied. And Ken was okay, too. She'd heard him on the phone, yelling and arguing with Youji, but to see him actually unharmed was reassuring. It gave her the courage to step forward and go to her tiptoes to peer at Ran's bed, over by the windows. She couldn't see anything but a few locks of his red hair. He, like Omi, was covered in blankets, and obscured by them. A deep breath to gather her nerves, and another to gather her courage, and then she walked up to the side of the bed. "Aya-niichan?"  
  
He blinked. Opened his eyes and blinked. And she stumbled backwards and nearly knocked Ken out of his seat. As it was he grumbled a groggy, "Wassat?" And went back to sleep, not at all disturbed by the pounding of her heart. It sounded deafeningly loud in her ears.  
  
He was okay. Oh God. The relief made her knees wobbly and she grasped the railing of the bed so she could take a deep breath and steady herself. Paused to calm herself. To make sure she wouldn't look so pale and worried when she stepped closer to Ran's side.  
  
"Aya-niichan?" He blinked at her again, violet eyes huge and dilated, red bangs flopping back as if they had been brushed out of his face. She took the seat Ken had vacated--under duress from Youji--and scooted it nearer his bed. He looked worse than she had thought he would. She couldn't really have imagined this. Couldn't have imagined him looking so much paler that he usually did. So white she almost expected him to be translucent. Expected him to fade into mist as soon as she touched him. Just to be safe, she kept her hands folded in her lap.  
  
"Aya?" Youji. Hanging over her shoulder and peering down at him, grinning like a loon. "Are you okay?"  
  
"A-Aya?" Ran echoed, blinking owlishly at her, looking so much like the Ran she used to know that the tears almost started again. She sniffled them back and smiled. She didn't want to worry him. Didn't want to upset him. She had to be sunshine and cheer like Omi was, because that was what Ran was looking for when he looked at her.  
  
"Aya-niichan." She said again, just to see the recognition come into clouded eyes.  
  
"Youji?" He asked, and his voice was soft, and hoarse and weak. She wondered what could have happened to him and to Omi. What sort of 'business' could leave them both looking like something left over from a funeral. What could put that dark look into Ken's eyes as he stood, slouching against the wall, looking for all the world like he'd been propped there. Like he would collapse without the support. Or like he was going to slide down it and to the floor at any moment. And she wondered what could put that grim look on Youji's face as he leaned over to let Ran see him.  
  
"I'm right here."  
  
"Hn." Maybe he wanted to say more. Maybe not. It was hard to tell with Ran these days. His eyes closed again and didn't open for a long time. When they did, they were darker than before, but bright, locked disconcertingly to her face as a gamut of emotions flashed through them. She wondered if Ran knew how much his eyes betrayed him. What she didn't see on his face anymore was often reflected there. Fear, sometimes. Most often sadness and despair, and an unfamiliar dark look she had no tag for. And at this moment all of those were present, most especially that dark look. And the fear. And she wondered what he had to be afraid of, because right now it looked for all the world like he was afraid of *her.*  
  
"Aya-chan!" Ken's voice came blurrily from the darkness. A belated greeting, as if he had just now woken enough to notice her. He sounded tired, and when she looked over she saw that he had indeed crumpled to the floor, resting against the wall with his head on his knees. "When'd you get here?"  
  
Yes, he *had* just noticed her. She smiled, and it was genuine this time, not just politeness. Ran was okay and, acting strange or not, that was a heavy burden lifted from her heart. "Just a few minutes ago, Ken- nii." She told him, not really wanting to look back at Ran's pale, bruised face, even if his oddly terrified eyes had slid shut again in exhausted slumber.  
  
"She called the hospital and left a message." Youji said, also glancing over at Ken. He'd seated himself on the edge of Omi's bed, and was absently patting his ruffled blonde hair. Pushing it down just to watch it spring up again when he removed the weight of his hand. He looked hypnotized, and with his shades pushed up on top of his head, she could see the dark circles under his eyes. "Told me to meet her downstairs. I figured you could handle things here."  
  
"Would have been nice for you to say something." Ken gamely tried to argue.  
  
"Apparently you fell asleep on the job."  
  
"I was *already* asleep when you left, wiseass."  
  
Youji yawned, looked up, then back down at Omi and sighed, and gave up. " I guess." And that made Aya blink, because she had never seen either of the two give in on an argument no matter how pointless. Ken blinked at it too, then shrugged, not looking the slightest bit pleased with his victory, maybe even looking unhappy with it, and asked, "*You* called *him*? How'd you know where we were anyway, Aya-chan?"  
  
How'd she know where they were, anyway? So. They hadn't told her on purpose? Well, well, well. She casually flicked a dark braid over one shoulder. "Manx-san." She said. And smirked.  
  
Ken's eyes got big. Like large brown saucers. And Youji jumped away from her as if he'd been stung, then narrowed his eyes and leaned closer, as if to ascertain it was really her and not yet another doppelganger.  
  
"Is that a problem?" She asked, large eyed, innocent. Smug as anything now that she knew she'd been intentionally kept in the dark.  
  
Ken muttered, "God, weaseling information our of *Manx*, of all people." And Youji sighed heavily and said, "Aya. You *promised*."  
  
"And I didn't break them. *She* talked to me first. *And* I didn't ask her *a thing*." It was an effort of will not to stick her tongue out at him. Not to gloat when he blinked in consternation and gave her that look her father used to just before he gave in to her demands and told her she should become a lawyer.  
  
Instead she just glared back at him and then, despite everything, she grinned, flashing a wink at Youji's troubled, thoughtful gaze, before she swung her own eyes back to Ran's still, sleeping form.  
  
What little information she had managed to wring out of the red- haired woman Youji had warned her away from was scant--nothing more than the name of this hospital. And even now Aya couldn't tell if she had been told or if the words had accidentally slipped out. Wasn't really sure if her own leading remarks and conversation had had any thing to do with it. What she was sure of was that somehow these things hung together. The two mysterious women, the promise Youji had extracted from her, the nights when all four of them--Youji, Ran, Omi, and Ken--came home late at night, without a word of explanation. And now this.  
  
She could almost see the thread that tied this all together. Almost, but not quite. And somehow, she thought, she would figure out what it was. She would just have to work *around* that promise she'd made Youji.  
  
A promise was, after all, a promise, and not to be made lightly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
~TBC, if anyone still wants more. 


	5. the rest of the story

 For reasons of easier editing (due to lost files and such) this fic is posted and continued at  


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